45
Casey
If I was wearing any underwear, it would be around my ankles by now. Just the tone of his voice, his words – those eyes. They’re telling me that Nick is a man who intends to keep his promises: and I want to experience all of them.
Eight years was a long time for me, too.
He moves confidently, as if he’s about to go in for the kill, pulling me down onto the end of the bed. I sit there, my legs giving way, as he places a knee on the mattress, pushing me back with his body. He rests his hands on the bed, leaning over me – the look in his eyes is enough to make me come right here. Because Nick O’Connor’s eyes say it all. His gaze is pure lust; it speaks to you, strips you bare, kisses you all over and makes you his own. I’m sure they could give you an orgasm just like that.
He lowers himself down to me, his breath tickling my face, his tongue tracing the line of my lips. I part them, responding to his call, but Nick doesn’t kiss me. He bites down, one lip at a time, tugging at them with his teeth without pausing even for a glance. Those eyes have become my own personal hell.
I wriggle underneath him, impatient to feel his tongue inside me, on top of me; I want to suffocate under his kisses. I move around on the mattress and he laughs. He’s really enjoying this, and he hasn’t even taken my dress off yet.
I’ll never come out alive.
His hands seek out mine, lifting my arms above my head and pinning them down. He leans down to me again and, this time, his tongue invades me, taking away every regret I’ve ever felt towards him in the past eight years: all the nostalgia, the tears, the memories.
He’s erasing it all in one night. He’s erasingmeand everything I ever was without him.
He loosens his grasp, trailing his fingers slowly down my arms, towards my breasts. He takes them in his enormous hands, squeezing tightly as he bites at them through the fabric of my dress. I arch my back and a moan escapes me – I want to feel those hands sliding over my skin. I’m scared that I’ve already forgotten his touch, and I’m desperate to feel it again.
His fingers fiddle with the buttons which line the front of my dress. The first two slip apart, achingly slowly, but then I see him become agitated, his breathing growing faster as the dress falls open completely, my naked body exposed to his gaze. His eyes darken like the night sky, his hands grasping immediately for my breasts.
His hot skin sets mine alight as his fingers play with my nipples. He can’t stop looking at me, filling himself with the sight of me and everything he’d been waiting for these past eight years; even though he packed his bags and flew as far away as possible.
My body is back in the hands of the only man I’ve ever wanted.
He lowers his mouth to my breasts, squeezing them as his beard scratches against my skin. I’m having to seriously hold back my orgasm just from the friction of his face on my breasts. Then he takes my nipples between his lips, one by one, as my body moves desperately underneath his, ready to fall to the ground with desire before the sun is up.
He looks at me again, flashing me one of those smiles that sends women crazy, before circling my nipple with his tongue, enjoying the pure ecstasy painted across my face.
This isn’t hell: this feels like heaven.
He takes my nipple between his lips, closing his mouth around it and sucking. His hot, moist mouth, his scratching teeth, his hand clasped around my other breast, the pressure of his body; I start to lose my senses, any reason abandoning me immediately. I feel my excitement grow, and push my legs apart. Nick slips down my body at the sight of my parted legs, pressing his erection against my clit. I can feel it, even through the denim of his jeans.
“Nick…” his name is a desperate whisper on my lips.
“Shh…let me play.”
“I’m going to explode soon,” I complain, as he lifts his eyes to meet mine.
“I won’t let it happen. I promise,” he says, lifting himself up.
He slowly unbuttons his shirt, slipping it over his shoulders. His muscles are sculpted by years of sport and sweat, patterned with tattoos that only make him sexier. That V that disappears into the waistband of his jeans makes me want to tear the material away from his body with my teeth. He leans down again, rubbing his body against mine, as I dig my nails into his back. I can feel his firm muscles swell under my fingertips; his pecs are pushing against my breasts; his hardness between my legs; his mouth takes me again. This time, Nick kisses me. His mouth presses urgently, toying, craving. His tongue draws shapes in my mouth, leading mine to follow it in a seductive, exciting dance. I tighten my grip on his back. He pulls away from me, tracing his lips along my body, before kneeling and starting to unbutton his jeans.
“About bloody time!”
I only realise I’ve said this out loud when he starts to laugh, causing a laugh to bubble up out of my own body.
One, two buttons. When he reaches the third, he laughs again.
Oh, right. My mouth must be hanging open.
“I’d tell you to close your mouth, but I’m a gentleman, so I wouldn’t want you to notice that you’re drooling.”
“You just did!” I protest.
He keeps laughing, drawing my lips into a smile – but when he stands up and kicks off his jeans completely, neither of us are laughing anymore.
