We crashed into the bedroom, not even bothering to turn on the light. The glow from the hallway poured in, enough to pick out the hunger in his expression as he sat me on the bed and pinned me there with his gaze.
Neither of us spoke. There was nothing left to say.
He met my eyes, searching, as if he wanted to memorize every second. His hands framed my face again, and this time the kiss was slow. Nothing desperate or wild, but honest and inevitable. Everything I'd needed since the day I met him.
The bed creaked and shifted under us. His shirt went flying, and I pulled at his waistband, shoving his jeans down his hips, so desperate to get at the skin underneath that I nearly ripped the button clean off.
He didn't care. Not even a little.
The heat from his body rolled over me. I could barely catch my breath, the wine and the need and the memory of that first, messy night all snarled together.
My sweater went across the room with his shirt. The brooch clanged onto the floor, but I barely heard it.
I was already half-naked, and he made a hungry sound that told me exactly where this was going. Hecrowded in, caging me down. The weight of him pressed my spine into the mattress, but I loved it. The power in his arms, the burn of his eyes. Everything about him said "mine" in a way that made my whole body shake.
He kissed me hard, teeth catching at my bottom lip, then trailed his mouth down, down, past my collarbone.
He paused at the line of my bra, reaching around and unhooking it with a flick that probably took years to perfect, but in the moment I was glad he'd had the practice. My breasts spilled into his hands and he groaned, a deep, almost dragon sound, like I was the last treat in the universe.
His mouth landed on my nipple, hot and wet. The sensation buckled my knees, even though I was flat on my back. He sucked once, then bit, not gently, just enough to zing pleasure through my ribs.
I gasped and arched up shamelessly. I didn't care. I wanted everything.
He kissed lower, mapping a trail down my stomach with lips and tongue. He knew exactly what he was doing.
At my waistband, he paused and looked up, his grin wild. "Permission granted?"
"Oh, fuck yes," I moaned.
He hauled off my underwear. The cool air on my skin nearly shocked me, but then his hands came back, his fingertips rough, working heat into my thighs until I shivered.
He spread me open, kneeling between my legs, and the look on his face was full-on worship. Like I was the altar, and he'd come to confess.
He ducked his head and licked me, one long, slow sweep of tongue that hit me straight in the spine. I actually shouted.
He did it again, faster, harder, finding the spot that made me see stars. His hands braced my hips, pinning me to the mattress. I squirmed, but there was no escape.
He sucked my clit, slowly, then fast, then slow again, alternating until I could barely remember my name. Every lick sent color rushing up my chest, lighting me up from the inside.
I grabbed his hair and yanked, but it only made him groan and dig in harder.
The orgasm built so quickly I couldn't do anything but ride it. I thrashed, nails raking at the sheets, and then went off, shudder after shudder, legs locked around his head.
He didn't let up until I begged, "Chance, please, I can't?—"
He kissed the inside of my knee, chuckling.
"Do you always taste this good?" he teased, smirking cockily. This was his first time eating me out. Both times we'd had sex before, we'd gotten straight to the point.
I giggled. "I don't know, I can't say I've ever tasted myself." He knelt back, licking his lips, eyes glazed and dangerous until I lunged up, grabbed his shoulders, and pushed him back on the bed.
His surprise spiked, but he let me do it, let me climb on top, guiding him down until his head hit the pillow.
I yanked his jeans the rest of the way off, leaving him in black boxer briefs. I slid the fabric down, freeing his cock, long, thick, already leaking at the tip.
My mouth watered. It was a beautiful dick.
I stroked him, my thumb circling his head just to watch him squirm.
