Better Hate than Never (The Wilmot Sisters, #2)

Kate drops the pasta cutter on the counter and sinks her hands into my shirt, drawing me close, until our bodies touch.

I hiss in a breath between clenched teeth. “What are you doing, Kate?”

“Trying to be brave, too,” she whispers, pressing on tiptoe. Her mouth brushes mine, and air rushes out of me.

“Kate, honey—”

“Kiss me,” she pleads.

“I promised I’d wait—”

“As long as I needed, I know. And you’re wonderful—you’ve been wonderful—but I don’t need to wait anymore. At least not for these kisses.” She leans in, pressing me back into the counter, her hands scraping through my hair.

Heat spills through me, my skin burning everywhere her body presses into mine. “You’re sure?” I whisper against her mouth.

She nods.

“God, I missed your taste.” I wrap my hands around her back and drag her against me, taking over the kiss, coaxing her mouth open. Our tongues dance, slow, hot glides as my hands wrap around her hips, moving her with me, rocking, rubbing.

A soft, needy sound leaves Kate that makes my cock thicken, the air in my lungs catch. “Christopher,” she whispers. “I need more . . . I need you to touch me—”

“I know,” I tell her, hands slipping beneath her sweater, across the satin warmth of her skin. I palm her breast and nearly come from just touching her, feeling its slight weight filling my hand, her nipple tightening as I tease it with my thumb. “If it’s too much, just tell me to stop—”

She shakes her head. “Don’t you dare stop.” She reaches for the hem of my shirt and drags it up, out of my jeans.

“Kate, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she pants, tugging at my jeans, pulling my hips toward hers.

“Honey, slow down. Just let me do this.” I bend enough to lift the hem of her long skirt, dragging it up her leg. I slow down as I get higher, my fingertips teasing lightly along her inner thigh.

“W-what are you doing?” she says hoarsely.

Finally, I slip my hand between her thighs, cupping her over her underwear. Her legs give out, but I hold her easily, an arm wrapped around her waist. Kissing her, I mutter against her lips. “I’m giving you what you need. Let me touch you like this? Please?”

My finger toys along the hem of her underwear, dipping beneath it. She knows what I’m asking. “I need an answer, Katerina.”

“Yes,” she whispers, arching into me.

A groan of relief leaves me as I slip my fingers beneath her underwear and feel her, so beautiful—soft curls, warm, smooth skin that’s goddamn drenched.

“Christ, you’re wet.”

She sighs, tight and breathy. “You make it sound so dirty.”

“It’s not dirty.” I kiss her deeply, loving her mouth with mine. “It’s beautiful, what your body does, how it responds to me. Now hold on to the counter.”

“Why—” Her voice breaks off as I drop to my knees, rucking her skirt up and away. I press a kiss to her hip, the inside of her thigh. A shaky exhale leaves her. “Christopher, what’s happening?”

“I’m kissing you,” I tell her, toying with the edge of her underwear again. “Let me see you, here, Kate.”

A deep red blush crawls up her cheeks. “I’m all . . . natural down there.”

I groan. “You’re perfect.”

I kiss the juncture of her hip and her thigh, breathing her in, squeezing her ass in my hands as I kiss her. My fingers toy with the hem of her panties.

“You can see me,” she says quietly. “Take them off.”

I tug at her underwear, and either they’re threadbare or I’m hornier than I thought, because they rip right in half.

Kate gasps. “You just ripped my underwear.”

“I’ll buy you more,” I mutter absently, too distracted with my fingers parting those soft auburn curls, discovering pink, silky skin. I stroke her gently, lap her with my tongue. She jolts and cries out, her hands sinking into my hair. God, she tastes so good.

“Christopher,” she says shakily, “people are going to be h-here soon, and—” Her head drops back as I lean her against the counter and slip a finger inside her, then another.

“And what?”

“And—” Somehow, her blush deepens. “They could walk in on us.”

“Hmm,” I murmur against her, sucking softly, flicking my tongue, tasting her sweet, warm skin. “I think you like that, Kate.”

She sucks in a breath. “The things you say.”

I smile against her, lost in how much I love the ways she can be so fierce and fiery one moment, then shy and scandalized the next; how much I love the feel of her body, clenched around mine.

I devote myself to her, desperately trying to ignore the truth that reverberates through me with each thud of my heart, the knowledge racing through my mind—I love more than her beautiful contradictions, her supple body, melting for me. I love—

“Please,” she whispers, tugging at my collar, toward her.

Standing, I drag her inside my arm and bring my hand back to where she’s wet and tight, her hips moving against me.

Our mouths meet and she sighs as she tastes herself against me, as I groan into our kiss.

“Christopher,” she whispers, her hand rubbing over my heart. “Oh God, please. I need to—”

“Shh, honey. Easy.” I kiss her, slow and deep, coaxing her to relax. “Don’t chase it. I’ll give it to you.”

Pinning her against the counter, I slip my fingers out gently, just enough to bring her body’s wetness up and rub her clit.

She cries out, burying her face in my neck as I stroke her softly, working her up to orgasm. Her cries get faster, hoarse and pleading, and I feel my body tighten, begging for its own release as she chases hers. Denying myself like this is as foreign as trying to speak another language and just as difficult, but it’s gratifying, pouring all my attention solely into what she needs, worshipping Kate the way she deserves.

Feeling how close she is, I slip my fingers inside her once more on a deep, curved stroke. Kate yanks me toward her by the collar, until my mouth finds hers, and I’m lost to her sounds, her cries as she comes against my hand.

Panting, she drops her head against my chest. “I can . . .” She sighs, dazed and satisfied, her hand slipping down my chest, toward my tented jeans. “I can return the favor.”

My hand finds hers and stops its progress. I bring it up to my chest again, clutched against my heart. “I don’t want a damn thing from you.”

She scowls. “Gee, thanks.”

I laugh roughly. “I didn’t say that right. Sentences are difficult right now, given I barely have any blood in my brain.”

“Which is why I—”

“There’s no rush.” I kiss her slowly, softly. “What I just did, that is more than enough for me right now.”

She arches an eyebrow. “That is not what the state of your pants indicates.”

I smile against our kiss, teasing my fingers lower again, ready and hungry to give her more. “Ignore that.”

“Impossible,” she whispers.

“Hmm. I can think of a way to distract you.” Watching her smile in spite of herself, I tell her, “Now, hush, and let me make you come one more time before company’s here.”





? THIRTY-ONE ?


    Kate


Some things have changed over the past week—I’ve gotten very confident with making out and dry humping on all sorts of household surfaces. And some things have not changed. Like my capacity to stay on top of my laundry.

“Kate!” Christopher calls, followed by the sound of the apartment door shutting.

“One second!” I call back, scouring my room for a single piece of clothing that’s clean and isn’t riddled with holes or questionable stains on it. It’s pretty difficult, seeing as my laundry is a mixed-up disaster and my room looks like a bomb went off in it.

I hear his footsteps coming down the hallway and, out of sheer desperation, yank a long-sleeve shirt from his Christopher drawer, throwing it over my head, cuffing the sleeves to a slouchy three-quarter length. Rich cerulean blue and superfine cotton, it’s soft and comfy, long enough to pass for a tunic.

“I can work with this,” I tell my reflection, tugging on black leggings and quickly stomping into my Doc Martens. Then I rush out of my room, shutting the door behind me right in time.