He obliges, putting his mouth and lips into it. And he’s watching me. Those wild eyes are watching my every movement as he gives me more and more pleasure, his teeth razing over my clit, his tongue plunging deep inside. His head between my legs is the world’s most beautiful sight, and I know I’m looking dumbfounded and crazed as I stare back at him.
It’s too much. Too soon.
But fuck if I don’t crave it the minute I look away.
So I look back and his heated gaze is still on me, his brows furrowed in epic determination, like a man going off to war, and I’m surprised his look alone doesn’t make me come. I can almost feel him in deep, into the hopeless, dark parts of me I never go, like he’s willing everything forward and out into the open.
Fuck, this man is driving me more insane now than when he was giving me the cold shoulder.
I can’t hold his gaze any longer. I throw my head back and the world becomes warmer, warmer, tighter, as if my universe were built of tiny heated stars. It grows and grows and grows, this impossible force inside me that gathers every single nerve and piece of my body until its wound over and over again.
The slide of his tongue pulls the trigger.
“Holy shit,” I cry out, and he murmurs into me, his groans vibrating deep inside and kicking me over the edge. I’m going over, falling into a net of burning stars, and my fingers grab his hair, pulling at him in desperation, trying to hold on even though there’s no use. The orgasm never seems to end and I turn into a quivering, boneless body.
It’s only while I’m lying here, legs splayed to the side and trying to breathe, that I realize he still hasn’t come yet.
I’m going to need another fucking breather.
But before I can voice that, he’s at me, on his knees, and grabbing hold of one thigh and lifting it high, positioning himself. He pushes inside, still hard through all of that, and I’m so wet and spent that he slides in easily. He’s still as huge and thick as he was in the kitchen. He shoves himself into me with pressing urgency, and I have to give the man credit for keeping it together this long.
“I won’t take long, love,” he hisses, his accent muddled with lust. He grinds into me, his hips circling, pinning me to the bed as he pistons himself in and out. He is merciless, grunting hard with each thrust, this rough, animalistic noise that gets louder and louder the closer he gets to coming. It’s such a fucking beautiful noise that causes the heat to build in my core, coaxing the last bit of flames I have left.
I stare up at him, at his body, at this gorgeous specimen of discipline and pain and good genes. He grips my leg, pushing my thighs back into my stomach so he can thrust in deeper, and it’s almost too deep, but he pulls back just in time, groaning hoarsely.
The bed moves, rocking back and forth loudly, and I’m enthralled as he works me, fucking me like an animal, fucking me like a basic, primal being who has been built for this and only this. Faster, harder, deeper. His pace is relentless.
I can see him starting to lose control, dipping over the edge, and I give myself a hand so I can match him. His eyes burn into mine, and then he’s in deep, so deep that he’s shaking and muttering my name in low, guttural tones before letting loose a string of filthy swears.
It sets me off for the third time tonight, and once again I’m floating, flying, but this time I’m with him, and we’re riding it together, our bodies joined inside and out. For this moment, we are one, moving as one, feeling as one.
My heart is huge and filled with bliss.
I’m sated.
I’m happy.
I am so fucking over my head.
Lachlan collapses against me, his hard body sweaty and sliding against mine, and I do something I never do after sex. I wrap my arms around him and hold him close to me, trying to keep him inside me for as long as possible, not wanting the warmth, the connection, to be broken.
And he stays in me for as long as he can, his breath steadying in my ear, his lips brushing my neck briefly, before he rolls over and pulls out. He seems to barely have enough strength to tie the end together before he gets to his feet and pulls me up.
“Bed. Now,” he says, completely caveman.
I dutifully follow, my legs shaking beneath me as we walk into my bedroom. We both collapse naked onto the bed, and he pulls me toward him, not quite spooning but not letting go either. I tell myself that I’ll eventually have to move, that I can’t fall asleep when someone’s touching me.
But the world goes dark. My dreams beckon warmly. And I fall asleep in his arms.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lachlan
I feel soft fingers at my cheek. I open my eyes, blinking into the dark until I see the shadow of a girl at my side, hazy light coming in from an open window.
Kayla. I swallow, feeling panicked.
“Are you okay?” she whispers.
“Yeah…” I shake my head trying to get my bearings. “Yeah. Why? What…what time is it?”
“Almost morning,” she says softly, her fingers trailing down to my jaw. “You were having a bad dream.”
Fucking hell. How much of it did she hear?
“I don’t, uh, I can’t remember,” I tell her, trying to but only recalling feeling despair.
“Probably a good thing,” she says.
“What was I saying?” I ask hesitantly.
“You were calling out…” she trails off, hands drifting over my chest. “For Lionel.”
I breathe out in relief. “Lionel is my dog,” I tell her.
She cocks her head at me. “You have another dog?”
“At home, yeah.” Though there’s no point in telling her that I most likely wasn’t calling out for my dog in my dream. I was dreaming of being a child again, the day my mum gave me away. But lying here in this beautiful woman’s bed is no place to bring up tragedies.
“You must be excited to go back home to him,” she says, and though she’s hiding it, I can hear the trace of disappointment in her voice. Everything is always more clear in the dark.
I reach for her face, pulling her closer to me. “What I am is determined to make these last few days count,” I tell her as I kiss her softly at the edge of her mouth. “I’m far from done with you.”
If anything, Kayla has unlocked a part of me I rarely, if ever, tap into. It’s been months since I last slept with anyone, and back then it was some bird I picked up at the bar. I was drunk and in a bad place—the two are mutual with each other—and feeling sorry for myself. I shagged the chick in the bathroom, and that was that. Before that, I can’t remember. Once I’d decided to quit the meaningless one-night stands, sex was put on the back burner.
Now, I am burning, raging like an inferno, and long overdue. When I showed up at her door, I wasn’t sure how she was going to take things, but I knew it was time to stop pretending that she hadn’t gotten to me, that I didn’t want to have her in whatever way I could.
And, bloody hell, she was ready for whatever I gave her. The words that came out of her mouth did my head in, turned me upside down, as if I wasn’t already letting the lust run away with me.
I want more. I want her every day, all the time, until I leave.
“I’m not done with you either,” she says throatily, and the tone makes my cock stiffen, hot and thick and straining against the sheets. Her lips open against mine, and I slide my tongue in, tasting her sweet, wicked little mouth.
I need to fuck her, messy, hot, and wild. I want her body, her touch, her light to replace all the darkness that creeps into my dreams.
“Oh, you gorgeous thing,” I murmur, running the pad of my thumb over her peaked nipple as she arches back, her body begging for more. “I’ll go mad if I can’t get inside you.”
She looks up at me, and in the dim light, I see her coy smile. “I like driving men mad.”
“I know you do, love. But have some pity on me. It’s been a while.”
She jerks her head in surprise. “Really?”