Free of the binds, she stretched a hand between them and gripped his erection through his pants. For two hours, she’d watched it stretch his fly, waiting for it to rip a hole through the leather. “Your turn.”
He grabbed her wrist and removed her hand. “No. This is my penance.”
The break in his voice undid her. “Jay, please. You don’t need—”
“Let it be, Charlee.” He pulled her further up his chest and cupped her head against his throat.
The blend of pain and pleasure he’d gifted her exceeded her expectations, but that wasn’t what freed the things that had been tightening her chest for so damn long. He’d given her something that wasn’t easy for him to give and he’d done so without taking.
Yeah, her anger with him was long gone. In its place was a soaring, unsuspecting love.
As she settled into the steady rise and fall of his chest, a startling realization tumbled over her. He whipped her and stretched her ass and commanded her every move. And not once, had Huntress whispered through her head.
69
The bedside clock read ten, and the sun beating through the glass doors agreed. Yet, Jay lay like a dead man beneath Charlee. No, not dead. His chest emitted warmth and vibrancy. With his head lolled on the pillow, his heartbeat pulsed against the arch of his throat.
She shouldn’t wake him. Lord knew he needed sleep, but his penance for the prior night was over. She eased off him, tugged down the sheet, past his waist, to his feet, and revealed a golden landscape of dipping and cresting muscles.
He’d lost his pants sometime in the night. No surprise there. She couldn’t understand how he wore leather, let alone slept in it. But damn, it cupped him in all the right places. Her mouth watered.
Arms bent above his head, lips slack, legs spread, he was vulnerable and masculine and unconsciously begging.
Kneeling between the strength of his thighs, she lowered her mouth, hovered over his half-erect penis. A lick around the glans, and she drew him in.
His eyes flew open, and his hands floundered until they found purchase on the rungs of the headboard.
She slid her lips to the tip and kissed the crown. “Good morning.”
“Hell of a way to wake up.” His voice was groggy and sexy as fuck.
Gripping him in hand, she waited. No flinching. No meltdowns. She smiled and worked him back into her mouth. His shaft had doubled in length in a matter of seconds, his balls tighter, higher. She pumped the suction of her lips, circling and flicking her tongue.
The tendons in his neck strained, and his chin jerked toward the ceiling. “Ahhhh, fuck, Charlee.” He panted and grabbed the back of her hair to halt her movements. “Up here. Now.”
Holding him between the careful bite of her teeth, she walked her fingers over the bumps of his abs and up his chest. Watching him do his daily crunches was as arousing as feeling the results beneath her fingertips.
He followed her hands with hooded eyes. No tripped triggers. Had he defeated it? His reaction to touch was unpredictable and the underlying source of it remained locked away, but at that moment, the feeling of sweet victory rushed through her.
He grabbed her wrists, dislodging his dick from her mouth, and pulled her up his body until she straddled his hips. “Ride me.”
A warm wet trickle accompanied the throb between her legs. She curled greedy fingers around him, centered him at her sex. Rocking down his length, she threw her head back and groaned through the riot of stimulation. When her clit bumped the trimmed thicket of his hair, she reached down and traced where her folds wrapped around him.
The corners of his mouth stretched, forming a pinned line, his eyes glued to her hand. “I don’t deserve you.”
Did she forgive him for the drugs? Did she trust him with her safe word? She checked her heart, and it hid behind an even thump, the unhelpful thing.
She didn’t need trust or forgiveness for this. She pinched his nipple, twisted it between her fingers. “Shut up.”
The buck of his pelvis spurred her into motion. Up and down, she rotated her hips around his cock, pulling grunts from low in his throat. His hands shook where they clenched her waist and his thighs flexed beneath her.
“Jesus. Gonna make me come, Charlee. Slow down.”
How sublime it must be to climb to the precipice so easily. She was still circling the bottom of the steep, trying to find a way up. That was okay. This was for him. She gathered her hair on her head and held it there. Pulling in her stomach muscles, she rolled her hips, flowing over him in a liquid movement.
“Beautiful.”
The gruffness in his voice aroused the hairs on her nape. She kept her mop pinned on her head and rocked faster, closing her eyes and memorizing every stroke along her inner walls.