Esme has a shaky breath but sinks her nails into my hair to guide me lower, as she knows exactly what she wants.
Immediately, I give her clit an open-mouthed kiss, and she cries out my name. Sucking, I swirl the tip of my tongue, and her hips swivel. How have I not taken more time to worship her this way before? Lapping her up, I’m addicted and want more. When she begins to ride my mouth, I follow her cues and take over the rhythm shewants and pin her hips down to keep her still against the mattress.
Esme needs to relax, and that means I will give that to her. I could get lost in doing this for her. I want to make her come until she’s in such a state that she’ll fall blissfully asleep.
Exploring her, I drive my tongue within her for a quick taste, and her moan is soft but effective for me to be encouraged that I’m getting just the right spot. But she doesn’t give me a chance to go deeper as she is guiding me to slither up her body to kiss her lips.
“Please,” she quietly pleads.
Her hand glides between us to guide my tip to her entrance, and I slide right in. Taking her with me, I lie on my side and move inside her with her leg hooked over my hip. It gives me a better position to hug her close, and Esme is intent on framing my face with her hands while I thrust deeper inside of her.
We are on overload, our bodies extra sensitive, grinding a rhythm together. Every light kiss sends electric currents through our bodies, every hard pump cementing us closer to being inseparable, and my hand on her hip keeps her down so she doesn’t float away because that’s what it feels like; we’re not on this earth. Or rather, we’re forgetting about where we are.
She nips my shoulder and encases tighter around my cock. We sync together, and our breaths grow heavy. This isn’t like what we’ve done before. It’s more intimate and maybe even confronting, because this doesn’t feel like a game.
No words leave us as we chase our release, with no chance of slowing down, either. Only when she begins to tremor in my arms, letting a heaving sigh of calm leave herlips, and her body relaxing all around me, do I allow my own relief. I fill her up, not at all bothered that she’ll be marked with me for the rest of the night.
Because when I roll to my back and she tucks into my body, I know she has no plans on leaving this bed.
I brush her hair with my fingers as she listens to my pulse beating extra hard, and her fingers feather over my chest. She is clinging to me, and that’s completely the way it should be.
“Close your eyes, Esme,” I murmur against her hair and plant my lips on the top of her head.
“Just stay like this until I fall asleep.” I can hear the fatigue in her voice, but her breath has evened out.
“I’ll give you whatever you want.” I’m not even sure she heard me because I’m not certain that thought left my mouth.
But it’s true.
And as she drifts to sleep in my arms, having let me take care of her all night, I realize something else.
There is more meaning underlying my statement.
I have feelings for her. I’m not just the guy helping her tonight. I’m the guy who wants to protect her and the man who won’t let her walk away.
15
ESME
My entire head is a brick, and my body aches, which is why it’s odd that I also feel rested at the same time. The sleepy slumber that I’m in as I wake up is almost peaceful. Only accentuated by the fact that the pillows and mattress feel heavenly.
Vaguely, I hear Keats’s voice, and he seems to be in the hall near the bedroom door. “Just move around my schedule. I doubt I’ll be in Monday morning,” he speaks in a thin yet clipped tone before he must hang up.
Yawning, I begin to wiggle my body as he patters into his room.
“Hey, there you are, sleepyhead.” His content tone feels false, probably because of how I ended up here.
I rub my eyes as I sit up, noticing that I’m wearing Keats’s shirt. Oh yeah, because my clothes stink of smoke.
This is my life? Gone up in flames?
“Tell me it was all a dream.”
He winces. “I wish I could.” Keats comes to sit on the side of the bed near me.
Am I still in shock or has reality set in? One glance toKeats who is dressed yet kept a little stubble on his chin, his eyes glazed with concern and pity, and I know that shock is long over.
“What time is it?” I wonder, as I can see the sun is bright outside where he partly opened his curtains.
