The back of her head pressed hard to his shoulder, and he could tell she was riveted by the sight of him in possession of her flesh. But he wanted her to see better. More.
Yanking down the cup of her bra, he tucked it so the fabric plumped her breast to prominence. Firelight played over her creamy skin and peachy nipple. He strummed it with his thumb and then plucked it with his fingertips. Cami’s hips rolled, her bottom unwittingly stroking the column of his cock.
Closing his eyes, he swallowed his groan, then tried recalling his place in the script.
“Have you ever had stranger sex before now?” he asked, and placed kisses on her cheek, on the corner of her mouth, and on her jaw.
“Once,” she said faintly. Her right hand clutched his knee, the left gripped the arm of the chair. “One time, I had sex with a man I’d never met before.”
“Yeah?”
He worked the second bra cup over the other breast. They were both exposed now, but her arm movements were hindered by the straps of her dress that rode just above her elbows. A minimal restraint, but still her breath shuddered in and out of her lungs, causing the sweet mounds of flesh to tremble.
Eamon leaned down to nuzzle the soft side of one. “Was he a suit like me?”
“A suit?” she repeated faintly. “No.”
“Tell me about it.”
He adjusted her on his lap then sucked a nipple into his mouth, nursing at it softly. Cami’s hand wove into his hair, clutched. Pulling away, he kissed the wet tip.
“Tell me what happened, and I’ll keep going.”
“Oh, God,” she groaned, then pulled in a breath. “He dressed in leather, jeans. He had an appointment with me at the salvage yard…”
“Mm-hmm,” he murmured to encourage her, then circled her nipple with the tip of his tongue. “And?”
“And…God!” Her back bowed as he latched on to her again. “And I let him in. The office smells like greasy engine parts and oil, and to counteract it I always dot perfume on my hairline and at my wrists. When he shook my hand…”
His mouth lifted from her flesh with an erotic little pop.
“Eamon,” she complained.
“You keep dropping the thread of the story. Did he say how good you smelled?” He thumbed her wet nipple.
“Yes, yes. And I…I blurted out he smelled good, too.” She hung her head. “I felt stupid, but it was true. And then, somehow…”
“There was kissing.”
“Yes,” she said and closed her eyes as if savoring the memory. “Lots of kissing.”
“And groping.”
A smile kicked up one corner of the sweetest mouth in the world. “And groping. And then he pushed me toward the desk and the papers fell and…well…”
“Desks can be damn uncomfortable.” With his fingertips, he drew concentric circles around her breasts. “They leave no opportunity for cuddling after.”
“We didn’t cuddle after. He paid me and then he left.”
Eamon froze. “He paid you for sex?” Was that what she’d thought?
“No, silly.” She grabbed his hand and moved it over her again. “He paid me for the part he needed for his motorcycle.”
Grasping her wrist, he returned it to the arm of the chair. Then he continued teasing her breasts, tweaking her nipples with increasing intensity.
“Good that you understood that.” His voice lowered. “Though you deserved a fortune for the sex.”
“Next time he visited the yard he brought me a handful of packets of new guitar strings…he’d noticed my instrument in the corner and the broken E I’d yet to replace.”
“He didn’t know what kind to get,” Eamon murmured, fascinated by the dark rosy color her nipples had taken on while he played with them. “Did he want a motorcycle part then, too?”
“I think he wanted parts of me,” Cami said, and her hand lifted again to draw his head toward her breasts.
Giving in, he licked and kissed and sucked until she was squirming in his arms. Then he adjusted her body again, moving her so that her back was braced by his front once more and her legs were splayed on either side of his knees. The hem of her dress rode up, and he looked over her shoulder at her slender thighs.
Paradise wasn’t far.
Her head lolled on his chest again, and he turned his so that their mouths met in a wet kiss. As his fingers began drawing up the dress, she made a soft noise of protest.
“Shh,” he said against her lips. “I want to see you in the firelight. Let me play with you like this.”
Her body fascinated him. The way the shape of it molded to his, the way his touch seemed to ignite her. Pushing the material of the skirt to her waist, he covered the triangle of lace beneath with his large hand. She tilted her hips, pressing her mons into the cup of his palm.
This was what Eamon remembered so well….what he couldn’t forget. The heart of her connected to the heart of his hand, her pulse traveling up his arm and then through his body, so that they synced in breath and heartbeat.
The two of them pairing up. Coupling.
He sucked in a deep breath, staving off the urge to take her to her back on the ground, to rut on her to propel that softer thought from his head. That seductive, she’s-yours idea that had been made impossible almost two decades back at the point of a gun. When it had fired, tearing flesh, causing blood to run in rivers—
“Eamon,” Cami whispered, yanking his mind back to the present.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he promised.
Squeezing shut his eyes, he insinuated his hand beneath the elastic band of her panties, seeking out the heat and wet. But when he found it, he yanked his hand from the lace as if it burned, unwilling to satisfy her so fast.
Make her yearn, an inner voice advised. Make her yearn as much as you’ve ached this entire time without her.
Breathing hard, he stared at her liquid arousal glistening on his fingertips in the firelight. His gaze shifted to her face to find her watching him. With the other hand spread over her flat belly, he slowly brought his fingers to his mouth to lick and suck and savor every drop of her.
Cami didn’t move. He didn’t think she breathed.
She’d reached that focused state of sexual high he loved to push her toward. No Tab A into Slot B. No paper people.
When she was absorbed in the moment like this, he could fuck her mind with dirty words just like he could fuck her body with his dick, his tongue, his fingers.
He could breathe himself now, because the danger had passed. It was back to fun and games, just sex, and not that alarming feeling of belonging that could never truly be his.
Her taste transferred to his tongue now, he brought his damp fingers to her lips. She kissed them, a chaste caress that shot through him like electricity. Lust galvanizing him, he gripped her panties in one hand and gave them a vicious tug.
As the lace ripped she gasped, and more welcome dominance surged through him—dominance over her, over his softer emotions, over the impossible desire that had gnawed a pit into his belly those weeks they were together—and an even deeper one when they were apart.
He widened his knees, opening hers farther, and he left one hand splayed on her naked belly and returned the other to the swollen folds. She moaned.
Then came sounds from the other side of the left wall. A door opening. A pair of voices. Cami froze, as did he.
“I’ve got music,” a man said, and notes of an easy-listening instrumental floated through the air.
“Light the fire would you?” a woman’s voice asked. “It’s so beautiful tonight.”
“Already lit,” Eamon whispered in Cami’s ear. “And yes, beautiful.” Then as the people next door began their innocuous conversation—the babysitter, holiday plans, he stopped listening almost immediately—he teased and toyed and played, driving Cami up and up and up.
She was tense in his arms, her attention concentrated on climbing the steps to release, and he watched her face, illuminated by a mix of firelight
and filtered starlight, and his blood chugged through his body in pulses heavy with testosterone and desire. But though he was hard as a pike, his dick clamoring for its own moment, he focused on Cami.
Lovely, bewitching Cami.
Her clit was a hard wet pearl, and he stroked it, circled it and drew up his free hand to pinch a stiff nipple. She made a sound, low in her throat.
“Love,” he said, against her cheek. “Shh.”
She trembled, her body rigid, poised on that plateau between anticipation and the ultimate pleasure. The scent of her perfume and of her arousal filled his head, and this moment was almost better than any other…when he was king of the world—or at least king of her world. Just a few feet and a wall away, the people next door were still droning on about nothing. It didn’t seem like they were going anywhere soon, and Eamon knew Cami required only a small nudge now.
He put his mouth to her ear. “I don’t know if I dare fuck you with my fingers,” he said, but did it anyway, one, then two, then three, her pussy tight around them, so tight that thinking of his cock thrusting there nearly made him come in his pants. “Our neighbors might hear, you’re so damn wet.”
That did it.
Cami’s head turned against his arm. Her teeth latched on to his cotton-covered bicep. Then she was shaking all over now, convulsing in climax, his Cami, his a ghrá geal, bright as a firecracker, as delicate as a fairy’s spell as he held her safe in his arms.
Cami felt as if she’d melted, her muscles and bones warm wax draped over Eamon’s hard strength. The flames in the chimichea crackled, keeping the front half of her warm, but his body and its heat cradled the rest of her, his hold steady and protective. As the last sparklers of orgasmic bliss burst and faded inside her, she opened her eyes to stare up at the stars flickering through the latticed roof and considered her next move.
Eamon shifted a little, his breath stirring the hair at her temple, and her pulse began hammering again. There was only one thing to do…and only one thing she wanted to do.
Gathering herself, she slipped off his lap, standing between him and the fire. The hem of her dress fell toward her knees and though her panties had been torn away, the bra was still fastened around her ribs. She reached behind her back to unhook it and the undergarment fell at her feet.
Then she worked at getting off the dress he’d pushed toward her waist. It required some twisting and stretching, and she darted a look at him, surprised he hadn’t offered to help.
Her fingers stilled. From his chair, Eamon watched like a sultan, body sprawled and eyes slumberous. Her pulse started a low drumbeat, a rhythm she felt in her throat and at her wrists and in her womb.
Her movements became more languid as she found the zipper and parted the dress to reveal her skin. She stepped out of it, still wearing her heeled sandals, and laid the fabric across the back of the free chair.
Eamon’s eyes seemed to glitter in the firelight and his gaze burned her bare skin. Facing him again, she rubbed both hands across her belly and then sent them down between her legs to find her sex still very, very wet.
He made a low noise, then the back of his fingers rubbed across his lips as if too late trying to muffle the sound. A giddiness joined her resolve. That moment revealed he was less in control than he looked—just how she wanted him.
Her fingers moved from her hot cleft and back up her belly and ribs, leaving trails of cooling moisture that glistened on her way to cupping her breasts.
Her thumbs rubbed against the tingling nipples. Watching, his eyes still half-lidded, Eamon once again shifted.
Yes, she thought, good.
Her goal here, of course, was payback. To offer up her own brand of stranger sex so that the score would be settled tonight and they could return to firm, neutral ground. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t also enjoying looking at the heavy bulge in his pants. And enjoying the idea that she was the cause of the erection still contained behind wool and cotton and a smooth belt.
That strip of black leather was the only wardrobe reminder of the Eamon she’d known before. When they’d been together, merely catching the scent of his motorcycle jacket had made her feverish beneath her clothes.
Recalling the feel of that sleek surface under her fingertips, she shivered and saw Eamon’s thick cock jump.
“Uncomfortable?” she asked in a whisper, nodding at the bulge.
He rubbed the heel of his hand against the ridge, unselfconscious in the way only the male animal could be. She might be touching herself, but it was part of the show for him. While he gave another lazy stroke to his own flesh…just because.
“You make me ache.” The low growl to his voice had her tottering on her heels. It was time to ramp up the action before she fell at his feet…instead of kneeling there as she planned.
Cami reached for the seat cushion on the adjacent chair. Her fingers squeezed the spongy padding, and then she tossed it on the ground between Eamon’s legs.
Her gaze lifted to meet his. From the first he’d made her feel safe enough and sexy enough, desirable and desiring enough to throw off nerves and inhibitions, and the dozens of doubts that could enter her head, in order to have sex with a stranger, sex on a desk.
Or to sink to her knees to tease his sex with her mouth.
As she approached, he moved his feet farther apart. Placing a hand on each of his bent knees, she lowered between them, never taking her eyes off his face. His nostrils flared, and she saw a ruddy color flush his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.
Yes. Definitely reasserting the balance between them.
She stroked her hands up his tense, muscled thighs, deliberately avoiding the swell of balls and penis to reach his belt buckle. The metallic jangle as she loosened it sounded loud even over the crackling fire, and she stilled, tuning in to the neighbors for the first time since they’d arrived on the other side of the wall. Over the sound of a jazzy tune she didn’t recognize, their conversation turned to something about an annoying work colleague.
They didn’t seem the least bit aware of the carnal acts going on just a few feet away.
Cami’s fingers toyed with the cool buckle and smooth leather for a moment more, its sleek texture turning her on. If he’d brought his motorcycle jacket on the trip, she’d insist on wearing it over her naked body. But now this narrow strip would have to do.
She pulled it free of the loops to the sound of a near-silent hiss—that came from Eamon. Intrigued, she paused to wonder what he was thinking. But his face gave away nothing, and she was used to the mystery of him.
Pulling the leather between her hands, she caressed it with her palms, the warmth of his body still lingering on the surface. Then she drew it over her cheek and mouth and slid the strip between her breasts.
Eamon muttered, “Fuck,” and she smiled at him as she wrapped it around her waist.
The black leather was a striking contrast, she decided, to her pale skin, and she buckled it at the smallest setting. It settled at her hips and she felt a little like a very naughty pirate.
Or the pirate’s very naughty lady.
Then she applied herself to opening his slacks and pushing down his boxers. The hot length of him sprang free, as if it had a mind and a life force of its own outside of Eamon himself. She touched the tip and a small bead of moisture appeared there. She gathered it on the pad of her index finger and painted it on her tongue.
Eamon’s fingers stretched then flexed into fists.
She shuffled closer on the cushion and licked a line from the root to the tip. Now his legs stretched then bent again, his knees crowding her shoulders as if to keep her in place. One of his palms cupped the top of her head.
“Fuck,” he muttered again, and she imagined he wanted to grip her hair, use it to control the pace and depth of her mouth on him, but he held back because, after all, they didn’t know each other well.
In this scenario they were strangers.
So she tasted and explored him as if he was new to her, with
light kisses and long laps that made his breath turn rough because she actually did know he wanted a firmer touch. Her tongue tickled the underside of his shaft and circled the ridge beneath the bulbous head before she sucked just the cap into her mouth.
His fingers dug into her scalp and then instantly let up, and she smiled around his cock and hmm’d in satisfaction. Maybe she could tip the balance her way.
He gathered her falling hair in his free hand, pulling it off her face so that nothing veiled his view. She took him deep then, giving him a show, bracing her hands on his legs and deeply arching her back.
His groan vibrated through his muscle and bone and she felt another surge of smug satisfaction. When he’d walked away from her, he’d lost this.
Perhaps by the time he came tonight, the last of her tattered pride would be repaired. By morning she’d have not just restored the balance between them but be more balanced herself. A stronger, steadier Cami Colson.
Finally really ready to move on.
He groaned again and in one hand she gripped his slick shaft at the root, her mouth gliding to meet her fist and then moving back, only to slide his thickness between her lips again. The action was arousing her now, too, and she felt a trickle of wetness roll down her inner thigh.
She moaned and his palm caressed her hair. Permission?
But she didn’t need him.
Of its own accord, her free hand touched the belt at her hips, and then her fingertips slid lower to find her clit, sensitive and needy. She rubbed there as she continued to suck Eamon and she got lost in sensations—the coiling pleasure, his heat and length in her mouth. Still, the climax remained out of reach, and she sucked in desperate air, not yet quite there, leaving her reaching, reaching, reaching…
Then Eamon’s hand curled around the belt at her hip. She was jerked away from his cock and brought higher to her knees. He leaned in, no lazy sultan now but determined male, his lips and tongue aggressive in a greedy, dirty kiss.
Her head dropped back, surrendering to his forcefulness, and she heard his voice in her head. The neighbors might hear you…you’re so damn wet. And she was so damn wet, and he was so hot and hard, and she felt a pulse move up his shaft and then they were both climaxing…two strangers.
Who Do You Love (Rock Royalty Book 7) Page 12