“I don’t care, Thomas, I don’t care.”
“God help me.” He groaned and fisted a hand in my hair, pressing his lips to mine with an intensity so hard and hot I felt branded. He crushed me to him, powerful arms holding me still, captive, as his tongue pushed insistently at the seam of my lips, demanding entry. I moaned, a shock of lust sharpening in my core and he stole the sound from me, draining it from my lungs as his tongue swept in and plundered my mouth, claiming me.
His mouth tasted of wine and tears, and I wanted to drink from those lips forever. I wanted all of him, all of the pain, the joy, all of the suffering and the beauty. We clung to each other, in desperate recognition, two broken souls sharing frantic kisses. Trying to drive away the sorrow, trying to fill the fathomless echoing hole that hollows the hearts of people like us. People who have walked through fire and bear those scars on their incorporeal skin. I would kiss all of his scars away given the chance.
His chest heaved under my hands, his breath labored with passion. Pulling impatiently at his shirt, he bypassed the buttons and drew it over his head instead, flinging it to the floor. Our eyes locked as he grasped the bottom edge of my shirt. I lifted my arms as he pulled it off of me, my naked breasts bouncing free as the fabric slid away. I shifted to escape the sleeves and he stopped me, twisting the fabric around my wrists, binding them together. He eased my arms behind my head, arching my back so that my breasts thrust forward.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice brusque with desire as his eyes roamed over me.
My cheeks flamed hotly under his scrutiny, my nipples pebbled hard and aching as he stared. He lifted his free hand, his fist clenching and unclenching with hesitation. I strained forward, my mouth seeking his, and kissed him insistently, pleadingly. His lips commanded mine, his tongue licking and tasting, as his hand floated over my stomach, and finally up, to caress soft curves. He palmed my breasts, kneading my flesh until it swelled under his touch. Fingers found my sensitive nipples, pinched and rolled, sending shockwaves of pleasure down my torso to coil low in my belly.
He urged me back against the sofa, kicking my legs astride with his knees until I straddled him. Pushing my skirt up he lifted me, and my hips homed for his, the thin fabric of my panties soaking wet against his trousers. I ground into him, feeling the length of his erection so hard, so tantalizingly close to me. I pulled my shirt from my wrists, freeing my hands to reach for his fly, but he caught my wrists before they found their destination, and forcing them above my head again, trapped me between the cushions and the full weight of his body.
“No,” he said. “Not yet, that hasn’t changed.”
“Please,” I whimpered. “I want you. I need you.”
“I know.” He smiled grimly at me as one hand traveled from my wrists to my panties. His fingers slipped under the band and down, gliding between my wet folds, stroking, teasing. “I can tell.”
He bent low, his mouth hovering just over mine. My eyes were locked to his as securely as my body was under his hands. He grasped my panties and ripped them from me. Long elegant fingers ghosted over the smooth contours of my leg, and settled at my hip. His fingers dented my flesh as his grip tightened, squeezing the sensitive skin at the top of my thigh. His hand coasted lower, his thumb dipped and circled the tender pink bud, dancing in time with my hips. His mouth sought mine, teeth nipping at my lower lip, denying me, the soft respite of his lips just out of reach. His thumb stopped, breaking the exquisite tension that had been building deep inside me. He pulled back, his eyes searching mine. Dimples broke out at the corners of his mouth as he smiled slyly.
He sat back and freed his belt, unzipping his trousers, pushing them to his knees.
“Yes,” I sighed. “Finally!”
“No. Not yet,” he said emphatically.
“Then what are you doing? This is torture!”
“You’ll see,” he said. He slipped one hand behind my back and pulled me close, drawing my arms over his head to rest around his neck. Lifting my knees he pressed me into the sofa and ground his hips, thrusting forward as his mouth plundered mine.
“Oh God,” I gasped against his lips and trembled as I felt the head of his cock slick between my wet folds. I pressed forward, but he shifted away, nestling his length in the valley of my thigh as his hands slid lazily over my hips, my belly, my breasts. One hand glided to my sex, his fingers probed, slow velvet strokes, exploring as his pelvis worked in time with his movements.
I loosened my grip on his neck, my hands roaming freely over the contours of his back. He dipped his head, grasped my breast and sucked a nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling over the swollen tip.
“Thomas,” I moaned and my hands fisted in his hair, those beautiful deep chestnut curls.