“Hurry,” I force out between embarrassing bouts of moaning I’m completely incapable of stopping. “Please.”
“Yeah? You want it?” His breath is warm on my face, his lips so close to mine, they’re ghosting me.
“I want…”You.
No. No, no. Stop it.
“Hold on. Wait.”
He stops moving immediately.
“I want…” No. I don’t want. This isn’t about sex. It’s about the end result. In the dark, so full of him I can’t move, can’t breathe without sucking in his smell, his taste, can’t think without wanting something I’m not supposed to have, it’s impossible to work it all out.
“You okay? Want me to pull out?”
“Yes,” I say, immediately regretting it when he leaves my body, sits back on his haunches, and gives me space. No way we’ll accidentally kiss now. No way he’ll skim my breast or lean down, overcome, and put his mouth on my nipple. His face against mine. That won’t happen with him over there, our bodies separated. I can’t smell his sweat like this or consume the deep rhythmic grunts that permeated the air with every insistent pump of his hips. “It’s too much.”
“Shit, Kit. Did I hurt you? Are you okay?”
“No. No, I mean…” I need space. Breathing room. “Could you get up?”
He’s up and off the bed like a shot. “Kit, just tell me what?—”
“From behind,” I interrupt with a blaze of inspiration. Behind’s better. It’s anonymous. Geez, why didn’t I think of that to begin with? Instead of all this close, body-to-body, in your face business? I won’t come if he’s behind me. “It’s better.”
Feeling so empty now, and aching for more in a way I’ll have to unpack later, I get up and turn onto hands and knees, then crawl down to the edge of the bed.
He’s right there, smoothing my skirt up. “I’ll have to touch you. A little. For this.”
“Fine,” I concede, sinking to my front so I can bury my face in a pillow. “Do whatever you need.”
“Good.”
His hands are all over my ass now, pulling my cheeks wide. For a handful of seconds during which neither one of us moves, I wonder if he’ll bend down to lick me there. I shut my eyes tight and deny that part of me is wishing for it.
Instead, I almost whine when one of his hands disappears. The sound of him spitting again sends a flashwave of desire so hard it arches my back and presses my bottom into his rough palm.
“Yeah. Be patient. You’ll get it.”
I hear chafing. It takes me a second to figure out it’s the hand he’s just spat into, stroking up and down his shaft, lubing him up again. Why oh why did I ask for pitch black? I could be watching Jake Brand jerking himself off right now.
“You can probably go ahead,” I urge, still pretending there’s some dignity to this. “I think I’m wet enough.”
He hums, the sound weirdly doubtful and somehow bossy, too. It’s ayou’ll be wet enough when I say you arehum and it turns my insides into warm syrup.
Yeah. Yeah, I’m in trouble here.
“Here we go.”
I brace myself, as if that will change a thing. It does no good, of course, when his tip dips between my lips, notches at my entrance, and then he slams inside, so hard, I’m shoved up the bed. The hand he’s got on my ass shifts to my hip and tightens, then goes loose. “I…”
“What?” I lift my head.
“I need to hold you… Um.” A quiet huff of air. “On my dick.”
How can I not smile at that?
“Permission to, uh, hold your hips, boss?”
