“I want to touch you,” I confess. “Very badly.”
“And I want you to,” he says, “but right now, this is about you, not me.” His fingers flex at my hips, then caress down and over my backside, his mouth finding my shoulder at the same moment he cups my cheeks. Those teeth he’d promised to use, nipping the very edge of my back, and then trailing down my right arm. He shifts then, moving to stand at my hip, one hand possessively at my belly, the other on one of my butt cheeks. “I love how you smell,” he says, his breath a warm trickle on my cheek. “Like honey and sugar.”
“Amber,” I whisper, of the one thing from my past life I’d managed to keep. “It reminds me of the past.”
“It makes me want to lick you everywhere,” he murmurs, his voice taking on that gravelly quality again. “Can I lick you everywhere?”
“Only if I can lick you everywhere,” I say, loving that I feel free enough to say that to him, and more so, that I mean it. I want to lick every last inch of this man.
He leans in, bringing his mouth a breath from mine. “I can’t wait,” he says, sealing that promise with a deep, sultry slide of his tongue that has us both groaning when he pulls back, his forehead at the side of my head. “Did I mention you’re addictive?” he asks, his fingers just barely teasing one of my nipples, his other hand squeezing my backside again. “So fucking addictive.” He plucks the nipple, sending darts of pleasure straight to my sex.
I arch slightly forward, panting as he continues the assault on my senses, tightening his grip on that stiff peak and tugging before gently caressing it again. This soft, hard, gentle, rough thing he does is driving me wild and my hands move further up the wall, allowing me to brace myself. He, in turn, moves further down my body, one of his hands finding my belly and then lower. And lower. His fingers slide back into the V of my sex, just barely flicking my clit before finding the wet seam between my legs, and stroking. My lashes lower, his touch grounding me in the moment, in pleasure. His fingers slide inside me, and at some point he has gone to his knees, his mouth, his teeth, at my hip. Still, those fingers dip deeper, the waves of tingling sensations managing to reach from my sex to my nipples and back down again.
And then he is gone, no longer touching me, leaving me gasping and weak in the knees. I want to turn, to call him back, but I never get the chance. He’s already in front of me, his back against the wall I’ve been holding, and I have no idea how or when, but he’s naked, the thick ridge of his erection at my hips, my hands now on his broad shoulders.
“No more barriers between us,” he declares softly, cupping my face and tilting my mouth to his. “And now, I need to taste you.” He kisses me, a deep, hungry kiss, before picking me up, my legs wrapping his hips as he adds, “All of you,” and carries me across the room, not to the bed, but to the living area in the corner, in front of the wall of windows.
He sits me on the couch, going down on one knee in front of me. My knees come together, and he leaves them that way, kissing them, licking them, and when he looks at me, when I see how much he wants me, I can barely breathe. Because he isn’t just taking me. He isn’t just making demands. He slowly inches my legs apart. Slowly caresses a path up my thighs, his body edging between them, his hands pressing my hands behind me, onto the cushion, and his mouth finds my nipple, caressing it. Licking it. Suckling it. And then he does it again with the other one. He is seducing me, and I have never been seduced. I lose everything. Time. Anger. Fear. There is just his mouth on my mouth. His mouth on my nipples, and finally, his mouth lingering just above my sex in a warm promise of pleasure.
He laps at my clit, and on some level I am aware that I am angled backwards, my hands all that are holding me up, that he has control, but somehow that doesn’t matter. That doesn’t cause fear. He suckles my nub, and my sex clenches hard. I am just so ready, so close to release, that when he starts licking me and his fingers slide inside me, I am panting, my face lifting to the ceiling, eyes tightly closed. There is no holding back. I stiffen, my muscles spasm, my body outright quaking with the intensity of my release. And when it’s over, my arms give way, but somehow, Kyle’s hands between my shoulder blades catch me, holding me up so I do not fall. And for a moment, or ten, he just holds me like that, breathing with me, seemingly unconcerned for his own pleasure.
“Kyle,” I whisper, a question in his name though I do not even know what it is.
“I’m here,” he repeats. “And I’m going to keep saying that, and showing you that, until you believe it.” He moves, sitting beside me and before I know his intent, he’s pulled me across his lap, the thick ridge of his erection at my belly and between us.