His head lowers to mine. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” Our mouths meet in a powerful, frenzied kiss, tongues clashing as the pacing of his thrusts hasten. His piercing is hitting that place—that place that’s been elusive to anyone else I’ve ever been with—and I feel the sensations begin, knowing I’m about to orgasm. Tightening around him, my gasp breaks our kiss. “Foster, I’m—”
“Come for me.” His voice is gravelly, his breathing harsh. His pace is bordering on frantic, but it’s his words sending me over the edge. There’s a hint of desperation in them, like he’s barely holding on. As I call out his name, my inner muscles spasm around him. He lets out a short groan, stiffening as he gives two final thrusts, finding his own release.
We’re both breathing hard, his arms are still braced on either side of me so he doesn’t crush me with his weight, his face in the pillow next to mine. A million things are running through my head right now as the high of the orgasm is receding.
“Stop thinking.” His words are slightly muffled by the pillow.
“There’s nothing wrong with thinking, Kavanaugh.” I smile because, hey, I had pretty awesome sex just now. That and I can’t help but harass this guy. Trying for a casual tone, I say, “I was just thinking that I probably should’ve just waited another year. Maybe it would’ve been better.”
His head snaps up to stare at me with a mixture of incredulity, disbelief, and suspicion. Raising up above me, he stares. “Really.” He says this as a statement, not a question.
“Really.”
“Well, then.” There’s only one way to describe his smile, the gleam in his eyes—predatory. He shifts his hips, and I work hard to stifle a moan.
Damn it to hell. This is what happens when you unleash a vagina that’s been on strict lockdown for so long. It becomes a complete ho-bag.
His eyebrows furrow, and he tips his head to the side as if to hear me better. “Sorry? I didn’t catch that? Was that a moan?”
Ha, Foster Kavanaugh is a funny man, isn’t he?
“Nope,” I pop the p doing my best to school my expression. Except for one problem. He’s a freaking former SEAL, who I swear can manage to read minds.
And see through bullshit.
“Huh.” His face is a mask of mock confusion. “So if I do this,” he rocks inside of me and it feels so good, it sends shivers through me, “you don’t feel anything?”
I refuse to give in. “Not a thing.” With a sympathetic look, I pat his shoulder. “Sorry, buddy.”
When his hand reaches down to begin toying with my clit, rubbing his thumb in circles, I swallow hard, feeling myself get wetter, while simultaneously hoping he won’t noti—
His grin turns dangerous, and I know he felt it. His thumb continues to wreak havoc on my clit, and I know I’m getting closer. I can’t stop it—it hits me hard, eyes falling closed, body arching as I contract around him yet again.
When the tremors finally subside, my eyes are still closed as I concentrate on calming my breathing. He leans in close, his hot breath washing against my neck. There’s no denying the mischievousness in his voice.
“Sorry to disappoint you, yet again. Maybe I should try with my mouth.”
“Good plan,” is all I can manage to get out.
I choose to ignore the husky laugh that follows.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Foster
I make it—barely—through the work week trying to act the same around Noelle at the office. Five damn days. Her window was fixed Monday after we got off work and everything was safe for her to stay at her place. It should have been great; I should have been thrilled to get my space back. Instead, I ended up stalling her when she started packing up her stuff, insisting that the window sealant had to dry fully before she moved back in.
Because, fumes.
I googled some shit about inhaling fumes and spouted it off until she agreed to stay longer. Which is unlike me, but damn it, I want her to be there on my couch, watching Aladdin or Strike Back with me. I want her in my damn bed, watching her come apart beneath me. I want to watch her eat.
Okay, I’ll admit the last one sounds creepy as shit. But the way she eats prosciutto and cheese is sexy as hell. Last night, I got so turned on I stripped her naked and ate some prosciutto off her body. Which is problematic since that’s pretty much a staple at my mother’s house, and I really don’t want to get a damn hard-on in the house I grew up in. Over cured meat.
Shit. This woman’s making me crazy. But part of me doesn’t even care as long as I can detain her, get her to stay one more day.
“Stop, Kavanaugh,” Noelle holds up a hand as soon as I’m about to spout off my latest excuse as to why she needs to stay at my house. “I have to go home. It’s Friday, okay? Plus, I’ve got to get ready for tonight.”
“What’s tonight?” My tone is sharp because she’d better not tell me she has a date. Just the idea has me feeling murderous.
She gives me an odd look. “We’re all meeting at Raine and Mac’s place.”
Shit. I’d completely forgotten. A bunch of us often hang out at Raine and Mac’s on Friday nights, some of the guys playing their acoustic guitars and singing, the rest of us chilling and catching up.