Her nipples are already hard, peaked and rosy, fucking gorgeous.
“I love these.” I thumb over them, back and forth from one breast to the other. “I love how responsive they are to my touch.” I lean over and blow on one, and watch it harden even more. I whisper, “And to my tongue,” and suck it into my mouth.
Her gasp is quiet and utterly satisfying.
I take my time with her breasts, gently fondling them, pinching and stroking the nipple that isn’t being attended to by my tongue, holding her lower body in place with the weight of my pelvis, one leg flung over hers. Her hands are still above her head, clenched in the pillow. Her head is turned to the side.
Her cheeks are still stained that appealing, embarrassed red, almost as red as her hair.
I love all her contradictions. I love that she wears sexy, revealing outfits, has tattoos and piercings, swears like a sailor, and knows Krav Maga, but a single kiss can undo her. I love that she’s brilliant and bold and mercilessly independent, but manages to make me feel like a king when she blushes. I love all her sharp edges and all her soft, hidden spots and if you don’t watch yourself, idiot, you’ll find yourself with a much worse problem than a perma-boner!
Inhaling a sharp breath, I pull away.
Tabby turns her head and searches my face with big, dark eyes. She whispers, “No holding back, remember?”
Jesus Christ. She knows what I’m feeling. I can’t decide which is worse, having the feelings, or having only one night with a woman intuitive enough to guess at them.
Breathing raggedly, I lower my forehead, rest it between her breasts, and close my eyes.
I feel her fingers stroke my hair, and it’s wonderful. Soothing. I turn my cheek to her chest and listen to the wild clamor of her heart. She takes my face in her hands and forces me to look at her.
“Tell me.”
My voice is raw and unsteady when I answer. “I don’t know if I can have only one night.”
She says tenderly, “Don’t wuss out on me now, jarhead, a deal’s a deal,” and kisses me.
I slide my open hand up her thigh, over the crest of her hip, up her rib cage, and over her breast until her jaw is cupped in my hand. My other hand tangles in her hair. We kiss deeply but with no hurry, luxuriating in it, our breathing falling into rhythm, our bodies fitted together. She makes a slight movement with her hips, and I groan, lust flaring hot inside me.
“Maybe I should be the one telling you not to come,” she teases, drawing away with a soft, pleased laugh.
“You could tell me to do anything and I would.”
It’s out before I can stop it, a bald admission made even more plain by the tone of quiet vehemence with which it’s spoken. Tabby’s gentle smile slowly fades. We stare at each other, the moment stretching out past retraction, past any chance of reclamation with forced laugher we can hide behind and tell ourselves it means nothing, it’s only a stolen moment, soon to be forgotten with the morning light.
“Then, do anything,” she whispers, holding my gaze. “Do it all.”
I feel like a flock of birds has taken flight inside my chest. To distract myself from the imminent possibility that I’ll open my mouth and deliver this true but entirely emasculating line, I slide my hand down her body and slip my fingers into the tight heat between her legs.
“Wet,” I growl as she arches, gasping, her eyes gone wide. When I slide my fingers up and stroke them over her swollen clit, she moans.
It breaks the spell I’m under. Her moan takes me from swooning Romeo to snarling caveman in two seconds flat.
“You will not come,” I command, slide down the length of her body, spread her pussy open with my thumbs so that glistening pink nub at the top is exposed, and apply my mouth to it.
I suck. Greedily.
Her back bows from the bed. I push her down by her hips and hold her still like that, stroking my tongue over and around, sucking, making a meal of it and not caring at all how carnal it sounds, how loud it is in the stillness of the room. Tabby’s hands fist in the bedspread. Her entire body trembles beneath my hands.
When I feel her pleasure plateau, that inevitable flattening that reveals her brain is in a snarl, I lift my head and direct, “Flowers, Tabitha,” then go back to sucking.
She exhales a long, shaky breath. “Girassol,” she whispers.
I have no idea what that means, nor do I care. Here, at the core of her, she isn’t sweet. She’s salty and tangy and a little like the ocean, or grass. Grass drizzled in crack cocaine. It’s fucking intoxicating. I hear myself making animal sounds deep in my throat, like a bear neck-deep in honeycomb.
A delicate shudder works its way through her. “Tulipa.”
A sudden dazzling bolt of lightning illuminates the room, and the lights flicker. The sound of thunder rolls through the walls. I slide a finger inside her, feel her muscles contract, add a second finger.
“Orquídea.”
With my teeth, I tug gently on the small silver stud in her clit, pressing my fingers deeper inside her, and get the immediate and gratifying feedback of the roll of her hips paired with a long, low moan.
“Íris, jacinto, ervilha doce,” Tabby pants, writhing.
“Don’t. Come.”
She makes a small, pleading sound, her lips pressed flat together, her chest rising and falling, her pelvis flexing, riding the strokes of my tongue.
It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to sit up and sink my throbbing cock as far as it will go into her delicious cunt and start pounding. I’m out on the ragged edge of my own restraint, watching her fall apart, stunned by how beautiful she is, how brave, and by the force of how much I want from her.
How much more I want from her than this.
You’re mine, I want to say, but can’t, because she isn’t.
With deliberation, I suckle her, reach up with both hands, and firmly pinch her nipples.
“Connor,” she says, stiffening.
“Yes, sweetheart,” I whisper, watching her face. I return to my sucking.
She says my name again, a fractured sound, cut off at the end when she cries out, her body taut as a piano wire, her arms outflung, still entangled in her jacket.
With convulsions that shake the bed, she orgasms in my mouth.
Thunder booms. Lightning flashes. The first of the rain begins a soft, drumming song against the roof.
And for the first time in my adult life, I discover the true meaning of the word yearning.
This—this moment, this feeling—is everything I didn’t know I wanted or was missing, made all the more agonizing by the freezing realization that it’s precisely this that Tabby doesn’t want.
At least not with me, for longer than one night.
She’s crying a soft repetition of oh God oh God oh God, still straining against my mouth, her heels digging into the mattress, hands bunching the covers in her fists, and I can no longer wait.
“I need to be inside you,” I say, my voice rough with desire. When she whispers, “Hurry,” her hips still undulating, I don’t hesitate.
My wallet is on the nightstand beside the bed. I reach for it, fumble out a condom, fling the wallet aside. With lightning speed, I roll it down my engorged, aching cock. Then I take my erection in my fist, pull her toward me with my other hand wrapped around her hip, and slide the head between her soaked folds.
I drop my weight to a hand, planted on the mattress beside her. Moaning, she cants her hips higher, using her thighs to lift her bottom off the bed, grabs my ass with both hands, and pulls me inside her body. Deep.
Slick, tight heat, still rhythmically spasming—I can’t help myself. From my throat comes a loud, broken moan.
We stay locked like that for what feels like forever, suspended, unmoving, until finally the pulsing inside her pussy slows to a stop, and she collapses back against the bed, taking me with her.
I adjust my weight so I’m fitted more comfortably against and inside her, push her hair off her damp forehead,
and give her a deep, heartfelt kiss. When I break away, she looks up at me through her lashes.
“Oops,” she murmurs, smiling bashfully.
I’m so fucking helplessly charmed I might as well attach some strings and a pair of handles to my back, give them to her, and let her make me dance.
“Good?” I ask.
Her bashful smile takes on a hint of playfulness. “Mmm. I don’t normally kiss and tell. Sorry—come and tell.”
“But for me you’ll make an exception.”
Gorgeous, mussed, flush with afterglow, Tabby says, “All right. For you I’ll make an exception.” She looks deep into my eyes. Then, softly, “It was very adequate. Thank you for your services, soldier.”
I chuckle. “Adequate, was it?” Flexing my pelvis, I make a slow circle, feeling that small stud of metal pressed right above where our bodies are joined.
Her eyelids flutter. Her fingers, still dug into the flesh of my ass, twitch. “So very, very adequate,” she breathes, arching.
Watching her reaction, I want more. I slide my hand down her thigh, feeling her muscles flex under my hand, and pull her leg up so its wrapped around my waist. It changes the angle between us, opening her slightly, allowing me to press deeper inside. I slide in and out, then back in again, amazed she’s allowing this, wishing it would never end.
Tabby, so beautifully responsive to me, wraps her other leg around my waist and rocks her hips. “Almost…mediocre,” she says between breaths.
The feel of her rocking against my cock, using her hands and hips to manipulate my body to her own pleasure, is so hot and amazing, I shudder. Tabby looks up at me with dark, half-lidded eyes.
And then I’m fucking her. Slowly, deeply, the entire time staring down into her eyes. She stares back at me in a hazy sort of amazement, like she can’t believe it’s happening either.
It’s intense. Intimate and personal. Quiet, unlike the beat of my heart, which is deafening.
Her brows pull together. She whispers, “Lírio,” and I’m almost out of my mind with masculine pride.
“Already?”
She nods, biting her lip.
“You’re so goddamn perfect.” My voice is hoarse, the words torn out of me against my will. “Sweetheart. I want…I—”
Tabby kisses me, swallowing my words and the emotion that’s threatening to drown me.
It’s never been like this for me before, the pleasure of the physical act of sex overwhelmed by a sheer enormity of feelings. Part of me hopes it will never happen again. I’m a soldier. A mercenary. A Marine with twenty-three confirmed kills. And yet, with her, I’m as weak as a newborn baby.
She makes an inarticulate sound of pleasure, slides her hands up my back, and suddenly I need something more.
Taking her with me, I roll to my back. She settles on top of me, blinking in surprise for a moment before gazing down at me with a smile. “Getting lazy, are we? Or just running out of gas? I know at your advanced age—”
“I want to see your face. I want to see everything. I want you to ride me and come again that way, and I want to watch as you do it.”
I push the jacket off her shoulders, let it fall to the floor. She’s fully bared to me now, straddling my body, her long hair brushing her breasts and the flare of her hips warm in my hands. She watches me with those piercing eyes, and I know she sees more than I want her to, because her smile slowly fades.
The sound of the storm outside grows louder. Wind whistles through trees.
She encircles my wrists with her hands, slides them up her body to her breasts. The silver studs in her nipples wink, catching the light. I cup both her breasts in my hands, softly squeeze them so they spill out, more than a handful, and she sighs.
I would kill a man to hear that exact sigh even one more time.
“Tabitha,” I growl, and she moves.
A stroke and a slide and an easy, graceful flex, her body begins to move over mine. The pleasure is intense. I look at her bitten lips and pink cheeks and the rosy flush on her chest, and fight against my instinct to drive hard up into her, force those wanton cries from her throat. I want her to set her own pace, find her own rhythm, using me as a tuning fork to find the perfect pitch at which her body will sing.
The rhythm she finds is agonizingly slow, minute sliding and grinding movements that have me panting and sweating within seconds. I stroke her rigid nipples with my thumbs, and she rewards me with a moan of such voluptuous sensuality, I almost come.
When I apply one of my thumbs to her clit, she moans louder.
A moment later, rocking faster on my cock, she whispers something in Portuguese.
My smile is savage. Adequate, my ass.
“Feel my cock deep inside you, sweetheart. Feel how hard I am for you. Now tell me you like it.”
Her breasts bounce. Her lips part. She says breathlessly, “You know I do.”
“Say it.”
She groans, her head falling back. I stroke her clit between two fingers, tugging at the stud. She gasps, her entire body jerking.
I pant, “Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me…tell me how it feels.”
A short silence, faster rocking, the tension in her body rising until her back is stiff with it, and then words burst out of her in an almost incoherent rush.
“God you’re so hard and big and good it’s so fucking good I love it oh God Conner I love it please don’t ever stop!”
Yes. The sensation that sweeps through my body is one big, epic yes.
I roll her to her back, take her face in my hands, kiss her deeply, and thrust into her.
Hard.
Moaning into my mouth, she throws her arms around my neck, wraps her legs around my back, and moves her body in perfect counterpoint to my every thrust.
And I’m gone. Destroyed. The restraint I’d been so carefully maintaining snaps. I become a slave to sensation, to instinct. With some vague part of my brain I hear the sounds I’m making, the animal grunts and groans, but I don’t care. In part because she’s making the same sounds, but from her they’re deeply sexy, viscerally beautiful.
She sounds, tastes and feels like art, she smells like heaven, she fucks like she’s possessed, and she is the single most perfect woman I’ve ever met in my entire existence on this planet.
My final coherent thought is I’m so fucked.
Her pussy clenches around my cock once, and then again. Her body stiffens. She sucks in a sharp breath through her nose. I slide my hand over her ass, find the tight, puckered bud between her cheeks. When I stroke it, she shudders and makes a sound like a plea.
I gently push. Her body opens to me. I push deeper, sinking my finger to the knuckle, and Tabby convulses around my cock.
I try to hold on, desperate to experience everything just a moment longer because I know tomorrow it will all be gone, but my body is relentlessly pushing me toward the end that aches inside me, and all I can do is helplessly ride the wave of pleasure as it crests over me, breaks, and sends me crashing into oblivion with the boom of thunder in my ears and her name a strangled cry on my lips.
Twelve
Connor
Near dawn, the rain tapered off. I was awake to hear the wind die too, and the sounds of a new day beginning: birds chirping, the hushed murmur of voices down the hall, the low drone of a garbage truck lumbering down the street.
Outside the world is stirring, but here, in this shadowed room, in this warm, rumpled bed, I’ll make time stand still for as long as I can.
Tabby is a soft weight beside me. Her head tucked into my shoulder, she slept deeply all night. Now with the first of the day’s light, her breathing changes. With a quiet sigh, she shifts against me. Her eyes drift open. Sleepily blinking, she looks up at me, and I experience a tightness in my chest at the simple pleasure of watching her come awake in my arms.
Her shy smile unwinds the knot of worry in my stomach. I didn’t know how it would be, if she would bolt in horror or be filled with regret, but she’s smiling at me so swee
tly, I let the anxiousness go and gently press my lips to hers.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Her voice is drowsy and warm. “I suppose I have you to thank for my incredible night’s sleep.”
The tightness in my chest turns into an ache that I’m astonished to realize is happiness. I can’t think of anything to say but a husky “You’re welcome.”
She gazes at me in silence for a long moment, and then curls a finger around the chain on my neck and uses my dog tags as a leash to pull me down.
Then we’re kissing. Slow, amazing kisses that ignore the clock, the rising sun, everything we have ahead of us. Her arms slide around my neck. Our legs tangle together. I grow hard.
With a soft laugh she says, “You’re insatiable.”
“Yes.” The word is raw in my throat. “For you.”
She traces the outline of my lips with her fingertip. Her touch is tender, thoughtful, and sends a rush of hope through me. Hope that’s smashed when she says, “So our one night is over.”
I swallow. There isn’t a word for what I’m feeling or a way to deny the obvious truth of her statement, so I say nothing at all.
Softer, with such innocent hesitance it nearly breaks my heart, Tabby asks, “And…what did you think?”
Groaning, I drop my head and hide my face in her neck.
Mistaking my longing for something else, she tenses. “I’m sorry. That was stupid of me—”
“I loved it. Every minute.” I say it roughly, against her neck so she can’t see the wild hunger in my eyes. I’m afraid of what she might do if she sees how much I want to keep her. How much I want her to be mine.
A shade of the tension fades from her body. After a while she says quietly, “It’s still early.”
I lift my head and stare at her. Color suffuses her cheeks. Her lashes sweep downward.
She clarifies her meaning by wordlessly pressing her pelvis to mine.
“And I’m the insatiable one? You’re downright greedy!” I tease, enormously pleased. I’m even more pleased when she echoes my words from moments before, with a smile made all the more beautiful because it’s genuine.
Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games Series Book 2) Page 9