“We have time,” he promised, kissing his way to her ear. “There’s no need to rush.”
When she opened her mouth to protest, he silenced her by slipping a hand under her shirt and plumping her bare breast high. He’d known he’d find her nipple stiffened into a delicious point, but it was still gratifying to feel the flesh pebbled between his thumb and forefinger.
“You have sensitive nipples, don’t you?” He rolled to her side and leaned up on one elbow so he could watch her face as he continued to play with her breast until he’d rubbed a moan out of her.
“Yes.” Her eyes closed in ecstasy.
“Do you want me to suck them?”
Even riding the sharp edge of passion, she was still as clever as ever. “To ask the question is to answer it.”
He chuckled. “Never let it be said I kept a lady waiting.”
“Who are you calling a lady?” she demanded, but the last word ended on a hiss when he pulled up the sweatshirt, exposing one pretty breast, and immediately bent to suck her coral-colored nipple into his mouth.
Her hands were in his hair again, her nails biting into his scalp as he tongued and sucked and made love to the sweet point until she writhed and mewled and pumped her hips in a helpless entreaty.
He loved the way her soft flesh pillowed his cheeks. Loved more how her nipple grew longer when he tongued it to the roof of his mouth.
His cock throbbed at the sound it made when he pulled back and it popped free of his lips. And the sight of that sweet peak, all damp and achy from the attention of his teeth and tongue, was so incredibly erotic.
He could’ve sat back and stared at it all night. Memorized the exact shape of her breast, fixed in his mind the exact color of her nipple, counted every tiny variation in her ruched areola until, no matter how much time passed, he would always be able to recall everything about her in perfect detail. But the clock was ticking. He had to move things along or they’d never finish before they needed to leave.
Pulling his favorite sweatshirt over her head, he watched, mesmerized, as her purple hair spilled down like colorful confectioner’s candy to fan out against his pillow. Her big, dark eyes were glazed with passion. And a beautiful blush stained her decolletage and the inner slopes of her pretty breasts.
Cradling her face between his hands, he thumbed her plump bottom lip. “You’re beautiful, Hannah.”
Something flickered in her eyes. He remembered what she’d said about being compared to her sister and falling short.
Where Candy was long and lithe, Hannah was compact and curvy. Where Candy’s skin was honeyed and golden, Hannah’s was pale and perfect.
She wasn’t a rail-thin runway model. But she absolutely, positivelywasthewomanliest woman he’d ever seen.
And all her delicate femininity called to every single atom of his masculinity.
He’d never wanted anyone more than he wanted her.
Words would be lost on her, though. Any compliments he might offer would be fanned away as flattery. And so he did the one thing that would make her a believer. The one thing beyond her dispute.
Crawling back on top of her, he found his place between her thighs. Thrusting his hips, he showed her just how hard she’d made him. How swollen and thick andachyhe was.
“Feel what you do to me?” He watched the blush on her chest travel up her throat to stain her cheeks. “I’m so hard I hurt. Because of you, Hannah. Because you have the sweetest, prettiest, fuckin’-Asexiestlittle body I’ve ever seen.”
To further prove his point, he rolled back to his side, hooked a hand into the waistband of the joggers, and pulled them free from her legs in one fell swoop. The wool socks he'd lent her bunched at her ankles but stayed on. And for some reason, he found that unreasonably adorable.
Of course, his thoughts turned a whole lot more carnal when his eager eyes traveled up her pretty legs to her soft thighs and the little piece of paradise that lay between them.
Her pubic hair was dark. Trimmed neatly into a triangle that arrowed down to her plump lips. Evidence of her passion glistened on the insides of her thighs.
“Jesus, Hannah,” he breathed reverently. “I’ve never seen anyone who looks better in the raw.”
He could’ve phrased his words better, he knew. Could’ve waxed poetic about how sexy it was that he could see tendrils of her tattoo snaking around the sides of her narrow rib cage. Or he could’ve gushed on about how the curve of her waist was something artists had been attempting—and failing—to accurately capture for centuries. But he was glad he’d lost the ability to harness his more bombastic side when she chuckled happily and reached for him.
He gloried in the eager press of her tongue between his lips, gloried more in the feel of her nude body skating beneath his palm as he learned the terrain of her soft hills and gentle valleys.
She murmured her disappointment when he eventually pulled his lips free. But that turned into a hum of pleasure as he began leaving a string of kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, only stopping once he reached her breasts. There, he feasted. Thoroughly suckling and licking her nipples until he could feel the throb of her heart in each tender peak.
When she pushed at his shoulders, her body twisting mindlessly, seeking ever more pleasure, he obligingly resumed his journey south. Mapping her ribs with his lips. Swirling his tongue into the delicate oval of her belly button. Catching the edge of her hip bone with his teeth and leaving behind a gentle love bite.
