I can’t. The words won’t come. Because despite the whirlwind of confusion and anger, every cell in my body is crying out for him with need. My head is spinning as I inhale his scent, the only smell in the world I’d love to bottle up and keep forever. I lock onto the faint scar on his lip and the gold flecks in his beautiful eyes. They’re all familiar, yet it’s like I’m seeing them for the first time.
His hands slide from my cheeks as his fingers trace my jawline, then down my neck, with each touch sending warmth pooling below my belly.
“Lyssa,” he whispers in a barely audible voice.
“You shouldn’t have done this,” I murmur, but there’s no conviction in my feeble tone.
“I had to,” he explains. “I couldn’t stand by and watch that crap anymore.” He pulls back slightly with a vulnerability in his gaze, a raw honesty that surprises me. This isn’t the Creed fromBlind Date for Life, the tough, emotionless, unyieldingmountain man. This is my Creed with a soft side he only lets me see. This is the true him, but the reminder of the reality we’ve left behind tugs at the corner of my mind. We’ve come this far; we might as well break all the rules.
“Kiss me again, Mountain Man, I’ve been dying for you this whole time.”
Instead of kissing me, he drops to his knees and starts unbuttoning my jeans. “Oh, I haven’t finished kissing you; it’s only a matter of where,” he husks, stripping me down until I’m completely naked.
His eyes light up at me as if it’s Christmas, and he’s looking at the present he always wanted. Creed lays me down on a thick rug in front of the fireplace and kneels between my legs. His rough, calloused hands trace the curve of my hip and the line of my thigh as though mapping unknown terrain. The fire casts a warm glow on his face, highlighting the stark planes and angles, the depth of his hunger.
He leans down with his warm breath on my stomach and deposits a kiss, and then another on hips, another on my thighs as if each kiss is a brand, or a promise. I can’t look away; I’m captivated by the sight of him, the feel of him, the sheer intensity of the sensation of his beard grazing my skin, his soft lips, and the wet warmth of his tongue.
My body arches in a plea for more … more of his touch … more of his heat … more of anything he can give me. He looks up and captures my gaze; the raw desire in his stare steals my breath. This isn’t just about lust. This is about him, about me, about us. About a need that’s been simmering beneath the surface long before the show began.
***
Creed
My hands slide under her, gripping those soft hips, dragging her closer until there’s nothing left between us. I remind myselfto hold back and go slow because if I drop my guard and lose myself in her completely, this ends before it really begins.
The first touch of my tongue hits her like lightning. Her gasp rips through me; she claws at the rug, as if it can anchor her to the earth while I continue to unravel her. Her sounds. Fuck, that moan goes straight to my cock.
I steady her thighs, spread her wider, and bury my tongue deeper, chasing every shiver, every twitch as the wind outside, the crackling fire, the whole damn world fades.
“Creed, she cries out, quivering, please, give me everything. Tonight, I’m yours.” Her words unleash something primal loose inside me.
I flash her a grin that feels filthy even to me, then dive back in, teasing, circling, and avoiding that swollen little bud until she’s trembling and begging with her hips. When I finally seal my lips over her clit and spread her open with my thumbs, she bucks hard, thighs clamping around my ears like she’s trying to keep me there forever.
“Let go, baby girl. Come on my mouth, Lyssa. Give me that honey.” She shatters at my words. Her body bows, and her legs start shaking. I grip her hips, holding her down so she can ride out her climax against my mouth. I don’t ease up until she’s limp, boneless, and sprawled on the rug like a contented cat.
I rest my forehead against her inner thigh and breathe her in, feeling her aftershocks ripple under my palms. When she finally lifts her head and gives me that lazy, satisfied grin, something in my chest cracks open wider.
I smile back, probably looking every inch the feral mountain man she accuses me of being. The firelight turns her eyes molten. I crawl up her body, making her aware of how hard I am through my jeans.
She seductively rotates her hips, egging me on. “Now, Creed.”
“Not yet,” I rasp. “I’ve waited too fucking long. I want to savor you.” I kiss her again, slowly memorizing every curve of her lips, every hitch in her breath. She’s still trembling from the first orgasm, but I know another one is building. I pull back just enough to look at her, really look. Naked, flushed, open. Gorgeous doesn’t cover it. She’s everything I almost lost.
“You’re so beautiful,” I tell her, because only truth matters right now.
“Take it off, so I can see you too,” she begs, pulling my jacket off my shoulder. I keep my eyes locked on hers and shrug off the rest. Next comes my shirt, then my boots and jeans.
“I’m not so sure you were being honest when you said you wanted to wait.” She drops her gaze to my heavy, stiff cock.
I shift with a chuckle, so we’re face to face. “I don’t think you understand how much I love kissing you.”
“Probably as much as I love kissing you.” Her fingertips trace my skin, relearning me after six months apart, and when she leans in and kisses a slow path across my chest, I groan, relishing those lips I’ve missed so much, and when our eyes meet, it’s like someone hit the gas.
I bend and capture one of her perfect nipples, and suck hard, grazing it with my teeth. Her curves are like fuel to me. I love how thick and luscious she is. I can get an erection just thinking about her breasts. She gasps and digs her fingers into my scalp, holding me against her. I give the other the same slow and deliberate attention until she’s arching, whimpering, practically coming again from my mouth alone.
I lower myself and press my cock to her entrance. She parts her thighs wider and tilts her hips. “Fuck me, Creed, please. I won’t last another second.”
Her words are gasoline on the fire already burning me alive. My heart slams against hers as she bucks up, grinding and pleading. I’m hanging on by a razor’s edge, and she knows it.
