She laughs quietly, nodding. “Justsecond base.”
I pull back an inch, raising a brow. “Clothes on or off?”
Her teeth catch my lip, eyes dark with mischief. “Surprise me.”
I push her gently, and she goes without resistance, a soft gasp escaping her lips as her back meets the floor. The firelight dances across her skin, painting her in shifting shades of gold and shadow. I follow her down, bracing my weight on one arm as I lower my mouth to hers.
This isn’t like the kiss before. There’s no hesitation, no teasing. It’s deep and demanding, a hungry demand that’s been waiting for months.
I pour every ounce of my frustration, my longing, my relief into it. She meets me with equal fire, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer like she’s afraid I might disappear.
My free hand moves with a will of its own, tracing the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip. I can feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her pajamas. My fingers glide lower, tracing the waistband, and I feel her muscles tense for just a second before she relaxes with a soft sigh into my mouth.
Emboldened, I let my hand slip beneath the elastic.
The skin of her lower back is impossibly smooth, and I trace the path of her spine down, down, until my fingers are splayed against the curve of her ass.
Lore arches into my touch, a silent invitation that makes my blood run hot. I knead her gently, my mouth never leaving hers, swallowing the little sounds she’s making.
My hand explores further, sliding over the swell of her hip and down her thigh. The cotton of her pajamas is a frustrating barrier, but the promise of what’s underneath is intoxicating.
I break the kiss, just for a moment, to look at her. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, her lips swollen and parted. She’s watching me, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.
“Patrick,” she whispers, her voice husky.
I don’t answer. I just kiss her again, harder this time, as my hand drifts back up, tracing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Her legs part slightly, an instinctive, trusting gesture that nearly undoes me.
My fingers brush against the heat of her, through the damp lace of her panties, and she shudders against me, a sharp, needy whimper caught in her throat.
This is it. The edge. The point of no return. And every cell in my body is screaming at me to cross it.
I sit back on my heels, the sudden absence of my touch making her eyes flutter open. They’re dark, questioning. My own breathing is ragged.
“You sure?” I ask, my voice rough.
She doesn’t hesitate. She nods, a single, decisive movement. “Please.”
That’s all I need. My thumbs hook into the waistband of her pajamas. I drag them down slowly, the fabric gliding over her skin. I pull them past her knees, her ankles, and toss them aside.
She’s left in just a pair of black, lacy panties that are sexy as fuck and one of my old t-shirts, the soft cotton worn thin and draped over her body.
I lean back down, bracing myself over her. Instead of her mouth, I press my lips to the corner of her lips, then trail a line of open, wet kisses down the column of her throat.
I can feel her pulse hammering against my lips. I keep going, down her chest, until I reach the peak of her breast. Her nipple is a hard bead against the thin fabric of my shirt.
I close my mouth over it, biting down just enough to make her gasp. The cotton is rough against my tongue, a frustrating barrier that only makes the moment more intense.
Lore arches off the floor, her body a perfect bow, her fingers fisting in my hair and holding me to her. The sting on my scalp is a sharp, welcome pain.
My hand slides back down her body. I hook a finger into the side of those ridiculous, perfect panties, pulling the damp lace aside to bare her to me. Running my middle finger down her slick folds, I kiss her neck and the sound she makes is half-sob, half-moan. She’s so wet, so ready for me, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to rip my own clothes off and bury myself inside her right then and there.
Instead, I circle her entrance, teasing, before I slowly slide one finger inside. Her body clenches around it, pulling it deeper. I add a second finger, curling them just right, and find that spot that makes her whole-body tremble. Her hips rise to meet my hand, a desperate, silent rhythm, and I know I’ve found exactly what Lore’s body’s begging for.
I keep the rhythm steady, my fingers stroking deep inside her, my thumb pressing circles against her clit. Lore’s breath comes in ragged pants, her head thrown back, body taut like a bowstring. I can feel her getting closer, her inner walls fluttering, movements becoming more frantic.
“Patrick,” she gasps, my name a broken plea on her lips.
Then she shatters. A sharp cry tears from her throat as the orgasm crashes through her. I work her through it, my fingers slowing as she rides the waves, until she finally collapses back onto the blankets, her body limp and trembling.
