by Lena Maye
“No, Ella, I don’t want to stop.” I let my hands settle on her hips, trying not to think too much about how she’s straddling me. Her legs still wrap around me so her thighs are pressing into my waist. If we were out of these stupid clothes, I could…
Yeah, don’t think. Just talk.
I squeeze her hips. “I never want to stop with you.”
She bites her bottom lip, and I suddenly feel like a fucking fool for starting this conversation. But I can’t ignore those trembling fingers. They slide down the middle of my chest to the bottom of my ribs.
She lets out a breath. “There’s this muddle in my head, and I can’t sort through any of it. It goes away when I’m kissing you, but then there’s a moment when I’m scared…” She glances up on that last word.
I nod, a little gesture to give her the strength to continue.
Her fingers trace the bottom edge of my ribcage and then over to my ink, brushing up the course of the rope and making me shiver.
She watches the path of her fingers. “I’m scared that you’ll want to be as far away from me as possible. That you’ll leave. I just… I don’t know where the lines are.”
“Then let’s find them.” She’s so fucking beautiful. Those wide lips, the smiling eyes. And what’s behind that—the sweetness in her. And the way it turned to certainty the other night when she pressed me against the wall. I don’t think there is a line that’s too far, but if she needs to be certain, then we need to talk about it now. Before things go further.
“It’s not that easy.” She swallows, and my eyes trace the way her neck moves with the action and the slip of tongue that slides across her bottom lip before refocusing on her face.
“I need to know what you’re thinking,” she says. “When something’s not okay.”
“We need a safe word.”
Her eyes widen as they snap to me. “No.”
I laugh a little. “Generally it’s not supposed to be no.”
“I mean…” She shakes her head. “That’s like a whole other level. Like… I don’t know.” Her voice hardens. “It’s not like I’m some dominatrix in a leather costume.”
And, of course, my mind goes straight there. Black leather encasing her curves and rounding over that perfect ass. I shake my head. It probably wasn’t a good idea to have this conversation when I’m this turned on and she’s straddling me.
“It’s not just for that,” I say. “You’re worried about pushing the line too far, and this will give you a way to know if that ever happens.”
“You’ll use it?”
“Absolutely.” I look straight into those beautiful eyes. “And you’ll use it too. If there’s a line you’re scared of crossing. You say it and we just stop and it’s no big deal. Using a safe word isn’t a bad thing. It’s a good thing. Something that makes it easier for us to be honest with each other.”
She bites her lip, her forehead wrinkling. Her fingers still tremble against my ribcage. She’s scared, and I need to pull her out of that.
“How about…” I give her a teasing grin. “Antidisestablishmentarianism?”
She immediately breaks into a smile, and I want to do a jig—except I don’t because my composure would go out the window if I started moving against her like that.
“Jibing?” I suggest. “Lusty watermelons? Or maybe a tongue twister. Many an anemone sees an enemy anemone?”
She smiles up at me. “Mrs. Puggy Wuggy has a square-cut punt.”
My laugh is deep and sudden, and fuck, grinds me against her. “What exactly are you trying to get me to say?”
“Nothing,” she says with an innocent blink. “A punt is a kind of a boat, right? I was just trying to go along with your ocean theme.”
“So, it’s just about a boat?” I say, my voice a challenge. “Say it five times fast.”
“Okay.” She slaps on her game face with a determined set to her jaw. “Mrs. Puggy Wuggy has a square-cut punt.”
“One.” I reluctantly take a hand from her hip to hold up a finger.
“Mrs. Puggy Wuggy has a square punt… punt.”
“Close enough.” I hold up another finger. “Two.”
She tries to hold back a laugh, but it comes out in a breath. She’s never going to make it to five.
“I’m waiting.” I waggle my extended fingers.
She sighs. “We both know Mrs. Puggy Wuggy has a big ol’ cunt.”
My mouth falls open. “I can’t believe that word just came out of your mouth.” I lean forward to kiss the tip of her nose. “And somehow you made it sexy. Maybe we should use that one?”
She wrinkles her nose. “You aren’t serious.”
“No, I’m not.” I let the tease fall from my voice. “We should pick a word that’s easy to say because it means something. Something that reminds us of laughing over tongue twisters. Or hanging on to each other over fast waves. Something that means more than no.”
“Anchor.” She sputters the word out. “Because that’s how it feels to be with you. Like I’m finally anchored somewhere. Unless that’s stu—”
“It’s perfect.” I take her lips in a soft kiss. Her hands are still splayed over my ribcage, and they slide up over my chest and to my shoulders. And I can’t believe she just said she was anchored with me. My heart thumps so hard that it might jump out of my chest.
She takes a deep breath and then leans back, pulling up on the bottom of her sweater, sweeping it off and tossing it aside. A whiff of a sweetness comes with it. Strawberries or sugar, and she’s left in only her bra.
My eyes carve over her—thin shoulders down to fabric tight against beautifully round breasts. The fabric looks light blue and lacy, and I can just see the shadow of her nipples through the lace. I remove a hand from her hip and draw a line down her sternum, between those perfect breasts to her bra. She arches back, inviting me to trace along the bottom curve, and my thumb lightly teases her nipple. It hardens under my touch, pebbling under the lace, and a small moan winds out of her throat.
I smooth my thumb across her again. “So what color is this? It looks blue to me.” My voice is low and husky, and it must create a response because she bites her lower lip when she looks at me.
She touches the strap. “It is blue.” Then her hands shift behind her, and the bra falls. And holy fuck, those breasts are even more perfect without her bra. They move with her breath. Perky and tipped with dark circles that I ache to take into my mouth.
“I wonder if I look normal to you,” she says.
“You mean, do you have three eyes? An extra mouth?” I laugh, teasing her even though I know she’s talking about my tritanopia. “No, I think you look pretty normal. Although…” I abruptly flip us over, setting her on the bed, and making a little shriek of surprise tumble from her.
I lean over her, propping myself up on one hand. “Maybe I need to do a closer inspection. You could have an extra limb somewhere. Maybe even eight bellybuttons.” I run my free hand across her navel. “Although not here, apparently. I wonder where they are.”
“I’ve hidden them.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That sounds like an invitation to keep exploring.”
“Let me know if you find them.”
“Trust me, I will.” I smile down at her, pausing to enjoy this moment. With any other woman, I’d be moving right along, but with Ella, I always have this desire just to hang a bit. Stay in the present. Although, looking at her hard nipples, there is one future I’m enjoying thinking of.
Her breasts rise as she takes a deep breath. I don’t think I can resist them anymore. So I don’t. I smooth a hand up from her navel to cup her breast, taking that perfect nipple into my mouth. I pull on it lightly, testing her, and she arches back, her breath expelling. A harder suck, and her legs wrap my hips, her hands digging into my hair. I let my tongue play over her nipple, taking my sweet time and kissing over to her other breast.
Fuck, I could do this all night. All week. I could cancel the rest of the charters and never
look back. Just keep her here, trapped in my bed for all eternity, and kiss her.
I lick down toward that bellybutton I can’t stop thinking about since I mentioned it—slowly kissing her warm, silky skin. Although I’ve got a secondary reason for the slowness this time. Time for her to stop me, but she gasps when I run my teeth along the skin just above her jeans. My fingers find the top button, and I push it open, aware of every inhale and exhale as I do.
I linger, kissing lower, over the soft blue fabric below, tugging down her jeans at the same time. They slide off her thighs, and all that’s left is some silky fabric that does nothing to hide her beautiful curves. My hand slides under her ass—so round and full and…
“Perfect,” I mumble. I don’t know if she hears me, and I don’t want to stop kissing her long enough to say it again. Besides, I can smell her. Honeyed strawberries, and the scent makes me want to bury myself in every part of her. Taste her. Touch her. Discover every corner. I start to tug down her panties, and then I stop, looking up.
I want to show her that it’s okay to have fantasies. That it’s okay to want. I tug her panties halfway off.
“I want to…” My voice is so gruff that it hurts to speak. I clear my throat and start again. “I want to taste you. You smell so fucking sweet.”
Her mouth falls open a little, but her eyes heat, one hand running along my shoulder. “I didn’t say… the word.” Her fingers are trembling, and I’m not sure if it’s out of nerves or desire. Maybe both.
“I want to taste every inch of you,” I continue, watching as she sucks in a deep breath.
I slide off her panties, and visually devour her. Every part of this woman is beautiful—she’s glistening, like she’s ready for me. I pull her to me, firmly. Making sure it’s clear what I want. I kiss along the inside of one thigh and then the other. Listening for every single response from her. The way she moans when I lick close enough to her that I can feel her heat. The way she lets out a breath when I blow a soft breath on her. I love teasing her.
But fuck, I just want to taste her. My body and mind demand it.
I dip down to do just that and then pause. It’s not in my usual nature to talk this much, but I like that it’s pulling the words out of me. With Ella, I like telling her.
“I want to fuck you with my tongue.” I glance up at her, and her lips open slightly. When she nods eagerly, it feels like a reward. It reminds me of the first time she wanted to talk about me. That same warm feeling of her interest. Here I am thinking I want to show her how to open up, and she’s doing the same damn thing with me. It inspires me to keep going. “I’ve wanted it from the first time you were in my bed. From the first time I saw you.”
Her whole body heats, tensing under my fingers. “Now,” she orders. One fucking word that ricochets from my brain to my balls, and I don’t hesitate. At the first brush of my tongue against her, she jumps, but then her hands fist in my hair.
She tastes as sweet as I had imagined, and she’s so soft and smooth. She moans, and I listen to every sound she makes, responding when she fists my hair harder. Moving with her as she starts to grind against my mouth. Her knees squeeze me, forcing me to stay there—not that I would move for anything. The world could tumble down in earthquakes and volcanoes, and I still wouldn’t move.
I press until she’s bucking against me. Her thighs start to tremble. She’s coming alive under my touch. It makes my chest expand, and that feeling of accomplishment balloons as she says my name. And she says it again, the next time with a shudder that racks her entire body. She quivers against my mouth, and then all of her releases and she sinks into my bed. Her thighs trembling, her breath coming fast. I thought she was perfect before, but it’s nothing like this warm feeling in my chest right now.
I kiss along her thigh and over her navel, crawling up toward her, when her eyes flash open. “I want more.”
Hell, yes.
37
Ella
I want all of him.
His words light something in me that’s half ache and half need. Push away all the dark that came before. Taking me to this place where it’s just him and me. Safe.
He wants me.
And he’s mine. All I have to do is take him.
I pull on his shoulders to bring him up to me and catch him in a hard kiss. His tongue fills my mouth and his intensity coils as he holds himself above me, forcing those shoulder muscles and biceps taut. I run my hand over tense arms and down the long length of his back. He’s so wide and broad. So composed.
I reach for the top hem of his pants, tugging his button open, rubbing him through the fabric.
“That feels incredible.” One of his elbows bends, and he leans to the side a bit. Maybe he’s not as composed as he seems, and I suddenly want to take him apart. Undo him. He rolls to the side to remove his pants and then tugs me on top of him. I straddle him, letting my hands and lips explore him, kissing along that thin necklace and across his jaw. We both slip into a world that seems to be made of needy hands and hard kisses and the heat from our skin, all hanging around the thought of what’s coming next. And I want that so desperately. Like, now.
“Dean,” I whisper, and he mumbles some response that’s not fully a word, but he twists toward a drawer and comes back with a condom. He’s still kissing me, as if he can’t bear even the few seconds apart. He presses the condom into my hand, and I sit up, straddling his thighs, and tear the package open. I’m about to smooth it on him, when I stop for a second.
His blue eyes are on me, hazy with desire. His lips slightly parted as if he’s about to ask a question. That fluid network of muscles below, chest down to abs, and the long, solid length of his penis. I wrap my hand around him, smoothing up and down, and his eyes flutter shut for a moment, before focusing back on me. His hips move, as if he’s aching to feel me. He watches me as I roll on the condom, his gaze hotter with every movement. Then his hands settle on my hips, and I lower myself on him, stretching and filling, slowly.
He arches up. Another quick eye flutter before he’s focused on me. His gaze appraising as I start to slowly rock. It lingers on my breasts and falls down to my stomach. His hands move to cup my ass, and then his jaw clenches hard.
“Fuck, baby.” He’s pressed against the mattress, his entire body clenched underneath me. Restrained and waiting—like he was with his hands against the wall. I have a quick image of him bound, but it comes and goes effortlessly, flitting around my mind, and then I’m focused back on him as he is.
He clenches my hips. “Stop for a second.”
I slow, feeling him twitching inside of me. He lets out a strangled breath and looks up to the ceiling, and it’s all I can do to keep from moving.
“You’re too perfect.” He squeezes out the words, his fingers digging into me. “The most beautiful ass I’ve ever seen. And… okay, going to think about those eight bellybuttons instead.” He takes a few more deep breaths. “Although, apparently that turns me on too.”
I laugh, leaning down so that I can kiss his neck, which moves us again, and he lets out a groan, but then he nods, his hands moving my hips up and down slowly. But I don’t give him the time to take another breath. I move, setting a fast rhythm that gets another curse from him, and that just makes me push him harder. But he responds, moving with me, encouraging me. I ride him—fast and hard, and I’m so full with him. The thought sends curls of pure pleasure spiraling out from my core.
“I want…” I lick my lips, my mouth dry. I keep grinding, taking him so deeply. There’s nothing else in the world except the feeling of him inside of me.
“Tell me, baby.” His voice is strained, as taut as the rest of him. “Tell me what you want.”
“I…” The words fail me. But him wanting to know creates this recoil, like letting loose a spring. I let myself fall into a kind of frenzy, forgetting to restrain myself. Warmth builds over all of me. I moan as the pleasure starts to take me, and he thrusts up, hard. Keeping right there with me. It pulls more moa
ns from me, and then sounds I’ve never felt free enough to make before. Ones that keep building in intensity.
He lets out a low growl. This low, rattling need that I want to hear again. And then I sail over the edge, gripping onto him. Quivering and shaking and holding on to him. I let him guide our rhythm for three more deep thrusts before he stills. I lie on top of him, still full with him, and we breathe and feel the soft rock of the boat.
“Holy fuck.” His hands still grip my ass, like he doesn’t want me to move. “Is the world still out there?”
“No.” I smile into his chest.
“Thank God for that.” He draws loops on my hip with his finger, our skin slick with sweat. “Although you didn’t get to telling me what you want.”
“It felt like you already knew.” I twitch when his finger loops a ticklish spot.
“Well, you were sending some pretty clear signals.”
My heart deflates when he moves out from underneath me, crossing to the bathroom, but then he’s back, those muscles flexing and releasing so fluidly as he slides into bed next to me. Even better—he hands me a small paper cup of water.
“Trying to hydrate me?”
He takes the cup after I drink it and sets it on the bedside table. “I’ve decided to try and keep you alive. Especially if there’s no world out there.” He tucks behind me, spooning me. “Seems prudent. And I’d hate to have you die before we get to the you-tying-me-up thing.”
My heart stammers to a stop. But when I turn to look at his face, there’s nothing but friendly teasing in his raised eyebrow and half smile. Then it falls.
“I wouldn’t mind if the world did disappear for a while.” His hand slides down my side, tickling a little, and then settles on my thigh. “Especially after today.”
I turn so that I’m facing him, our bodies inches from each other. Sweat dries on my skin, and when I touch his shoulder, it’s cool.
“Is that why you wanted to circumnavigate?” I bite my lip, trying not to think about what that means. So much is trying to keep us apart: our past, our present, our future. “Did you want to disappear for a while?”