"Yes, Stella?" I dragged my lips up, gliding over that tight peak with the barest touch. I traced her there, exploring before my teeth scraped over a new section of her glorious skin. Even in the darkness, I saw the hot flush rising from her skin. It was going to throb and burn and sting, and she was going to explode when I pushed inside her.
"If it's not too much trouble, I'd like your cock in my hand for this," she said, her words pitching up as I bit her again, again, again.
"No trouble," I said, easing my boxers down. I'd have to kick them and my jeans off eventually but that could wait. I had my hands full—truly—with bountiful breasts. "What's mine is yours, sweet thing."
Her fingers wrapped around my length, moving up and down in a slow, feathery motion. Almost too light but much harder and I'd lose focus. Hell, if she got frisky, I'd lose the ability to stand.If. That was hilarious. If Stella was anything, she was frisky. And I loved it.
I loved her but that was not on tonight's menu.
"Good to know," she breathed, dragging a hand over my head and bringing my lips to hers for a fast, impatient kiss.
"I'm not done here," I promised against her jaw, her throat, her collarbone. I plumped her breast in my hand, finding the exact spot where I'd left off. "Not done."
"Neither am I," she replied, sliding that whisper of a caress over my cock.
I groaned into her skin at her touch, my teeth coming down harder than necessary. Everything was harder than strictly necessary. But I wasn't stopping. I was biting all the way around her nipple, covering her breast in swollen ridges and valleys and then—when there wasn't a millimeter of skin left for me to claim and she couldn't live another second without me inside her—then I'd stop.
The rich, delicious scent of Stella and the creamy texture of her skin lulled me into an unhurried pace where I tasted and teased her. I tried my damnedest to tune out the gentle stroke of her hand, relegate that pleasure to the back corner of my mind as if I was working on getting through a surgery before acknowledging my hunger. But I failed. Failed miserably. Every few minutes I'd rest my forehead on her chest, groan into the sweet valley between her breasts, and indulge in the early pangs of orgasm curling around the base of my spine. I'd murmur obscene notions of filling her belly button with my release, of making her hold still and keep it from spilling while I devoured her cunt, of flipping her over and letting my wet stick her to the sheets while I dug my fingers into her cheeks and fucked her ass.
But then I'd spy a new patch of skin in need of torment and go back to work.
"Cal," she said, her fingers squeezing me at the root. My head dropped back to my shoulders. "Where are the condoms?"
I stared at her breast, turning my head to study every angle. Her skin was pink, swollen. Her nipple was nearly screaming for attention. The only thing I could think about was sucking on that tip when I slammed into her. Sucking it through the rise and fall of her release. Sucking it while she swore up and down she couldn't take any more but took it, hoarded it, begged for more.
But the condoms were in the bathroom and we were here, in the bedroom, and fetching them meant leaving this blessed spot where everything we did and everything we said was right. Maybe it was superstition or maybe it was all my experiences with having single perfect moments with Stella and then losing them to real life. I wasn't leaving her only to come back and discover her dressed and ordering a car service home.
I kicked off my jeans and boxers, yanked her panties down in the process. Then I patted my abs, and said, "Hop on. You're coming for a ride."
"Yes, thank you," Stella replied, lacing her arms around my neck. "I think we're on the same page now."
We were not on the same page, not ever. But that was another issue I wasn't remedying tonight.
I hooked my arms around her backside, forcing her bitten breast against my chest. The contact had her crying out, her nails scoring my shoulders, her legs locking around my waist. "You're trying to make me burst into flame again, aren't you?" she asked.
"It's one of many goals, yes," I replied, shifting toward the bathroom.
I knew it was only a handful of steps to the left but just like getting to the bedroom, it was longer and more complicated than expected. And the whole time I worked at delivering us there without incident, Stella was busy kissing my neck, murmuring "hurry" and "please" in my ear, rocking her heat against me.
This was the true payoff for my Special Forces training. This right here.
When we reached the bathroom, I edged her backside onto the countertop, balancing her there while I pressed myself between her legs for one glorious moment. "Just need to feel you," I said, the gravelly words bursting out with each buck of my hips. "Just for a second."
Stella's hands slipped under my arms, anchored over my shoulders. "I want more than a second from you, Cal," she breathed. "So much more than a second. Everything. I want—I want all of your everything."
And that was the end of my patience. My control. My goddamn mind. All of it—gone, over, done.
I moved fast, ducking down to snatch the box of condoms from under the sink, making a mental note to move them to a more appropriate spot because no one preferred sex in the bathroom. The cardboard was in shreds when I stood, long snakes of shiny packets in a pool at my feet. I held one up, dragged it down the breast I'd ignored. The edges rasped over her nipple as she shuddered and moaned and the scent of her arousal filled the air between us.
"Can you take care of this for me?" I asked, the sharp corner of the packet pressed into her skin. "Can you do this, Stella? Or do you want me to handle it for you?" Her eyes flashed as I dropped that challenge on her. If anything, it was a challenge for me. I was the one who'd have to watch it happen. But I wanted to know what she was willing to give me tonight. How much control was she surrendering? Where were the limits? "Is that what you want? You want to spread those legs and let me take care of the rest? You want me to take care of you?"
"Yes," she whispered.
If I hadn't felt her breath on my skin, I wouldn't have believed she said it. I tapped the packet against her nipple once more, nodding. "Yes?"
"Yes," she replied, a bit louder this time. She looked up at me, met my gaze, opened her legs. "Yes."
Perhaps it was superstition. Perhaps I could've left her on my bed and retrieved the protection without incident but this was better. Her awkward position on the countertop, the mirror over the sink reflecting the luscious line of her body back at me, the harsh overhead light. The way my cock pointed straight at her as if it knew its way home. This was better. The awkward and harsh and perfectly right was better.
