My fingers flex where they have splayed over his chest, and I lean into the long lines of his hard body, losing myself in the moment, in this man who has taken me by storm, and seems to be everything I need and want. He moans, a low, sexy sound I feel in my sex, in my nipples, just as I feel his hands cup my backside, melding our bodies together, our hips, his thick erection now pressing against my belly. Heat radiates through my body, a deep ache forming in my sex.
He tears his mouth from mine, staring down at me. “God, woman. What are you doing to me?” I can’t think to even answer. He’s already on one knee in front of me, inching down the band to my leggings, exposing my belly where he plants a kiss. And that simple press of lips to skin, so nearly innocent, is somehow intensely erotic, and yes, tender. He is so very tender with me, and that stark contrast to what I know, and even who he is with those around him, is so incredibly sexy.
“Kyle,” I whisper, not even sure why.
He glances up at me, orange fire in his green eyes. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, Myla. You need to know that.”
“Why?” I ask, and it’s a simple question, a one word question, but it has so many layers, so many complicated layers.
“Why? Because I’m addicted to you, Myla. Crazy, insane, addicted to you, I want you to be just as addicted to me.”
He wants me to be addicted to him, which is all about my desire, my need, my choices and not his, though he’s made it clear that he wants me in a way that manages to be both alpha and sensitive, at the same time. He can’t know how much that combination works for me, matters to me, but I won’t tell him. I really can’t. Not when he’s inched my pants a tiny bit further down, just above the V of my body, and his lips and tongue are traveling that line – left, right, center – and all I can think of is, where will that delicious mouth of his go next? A shiver rolls through me, my sex achy, and oh so very wet.
“I want to be your addiction, Myla,” he repeats, inching to my side, his teeth scraping my hip. “I want you to think about what I’ll do to you next at times when I’m not doing it.” His tongue flickers against the tiny spot of his gentle bite, his hand flattening over my belly, to slide under my pants and push them further down, his palm resting over my sex without touching it. And the other hand now on my bare backside, almost as if he’s about to spank me. A thought that should terrify me, considering some of the torture I’ve been put through, but I’m aroused. So incredibly aroused.
But he doesn’t spank me. He caresses, he squeezes, he caresses again and then he says, “You have a gorgeous ass, Myla,” in this sandpaper rough voice, I feel everywhere, inside and out.
I laugh, or whatever that sound is that slips from my lips. I don’t know what it is, or why it comes from my lips. Then I actually try to speak. “Kyle I-”
He cups my sex, fingers teasing the now sensitive, slick heat of my arousal. “I fucking love how wet you are for me.” He moves then, in front of me again, his hands caressing my pants all the way to the floor before he lifts me and gets rid of them.
“Turn and face the wall for me again, sweetheart,” he orders softly, and only then do I realize that I’m holding his shoulders, leaning into him, not away from him, a detail that would seem normal to most. But to me, it’s a stunning sign of instinctual trust, especially when I thought I would never trust a man with my body again.
And that scares me. It makes me fear in that moment that I am wrong about him, and right to be guarded. Thus I do not turn. I ask, “Is this the vulnerable part? Your control, not mine?”
I expect some intense, manly demand, but his lips curve in a sexy, almost playful, smile. “Sweetheart,” he says. “This is the “I want to see your amazing fucking ass” thing. And kiss it. And touch it. And there might be teeth. Now, if that’s a problem-”
I surprise myself and laugh for real this time, which is really quite stunning to me on all levels. “I have no idea how you just made me laugh.”
“It’s a gift,” he says. “Right along with picking the perfect pizza, though I have yet to prove that as true.”
“It is a gift, actually,” I say, “because I don’t…I haven’t laughed ever during a moment like this.”
“There are many first times ahead of us, Myla,” he promises. “Turn around, sweetheart.”
There is this silky tenderness to his voice that tightens my nipples and my sex, but also my chest. Emotions well up inside me, I don’t quite know or understand, and suddenly, giving him my back works for me. I inhale and do as he says, but instead of him just leaving me naked and uncomfortably facing the other way, he is suddenly on his feet, his big body once again enveloping mine, hard and powerful, his hands finding mine and pressing them to the wall. His alluringly spicy scent consuming me, seducing me. “I want you to keep your hands on the wall for me,” he instructs. “Don’t touch me. Let me touch you.”