Oh.Oh.That is his cock, hard and thick and nestled in the cleft of my ass.
It's just biology, right? Morning wood. It doesn't mean anything.
The knowledge doesn't stop the flash of heat or the clench low in my belly. Nor does it do a single thing to stop the hot rush between my thighs. I feel like I should move, like he'd be embarrassed if he was awake to know his boner--the boner I have been dry humping and daydreaming about-- is cradled between my ass cheeks. But he's not awake, which means that for a minute, I get to enjoy the feeling. My hips wiggle unintentionally, nestling him deeper, and he curls around me, burying his face in my neck, thrusting his hips gently, stroking himself with my ass, and I nearly die on the spot. He's still asleep. I freeze there until his arms have relaxed enough that I carefully turn around, but the second I do, he's clutching me to him, mumbling in his sleep.
I peer into his sleeping face, his features softened in a way they never are awake. No furrows in his brows, no tension in his jaw, his lips parted. I can hear his breathing, slow, deep, steady. He looks younger. Peaceful.
My heart does something complicated and painful at the sight.
I trace the details with my eyes--the slope of his nose, the sliver threaded in his beard, the long, thick lashes. How unfair that he'd have such gorgeous lashes. The morning light catches on the gray at his temples, and I want to slip my fingers into it, want to trace every line and angle of his face.
His eyes blink open, those pale gray eyes. There's a flash of confusion, then recognition. Then heat.
"Hi," I whisper, smiling.
"Hi," he rumbles, his voice rough with sleep, gravelly in a way that I feel deep in my belly. It vibrates through my ribs, into my bones. "How's your head?"
"Forgot I even had one."
He huffs a laugh, breath warm, his fingers sliding up my back under my tank top. "You okay?"
"I'm okay."
His palm is rough, warm, rasping against my bare spine, sending goosebumps down my arms.
"Good," he says. And, feeling bold, I take a chance.
"So last night you said if I felt better this morning we could fool around."
"I did, didn't I?" He thumbs my cheek. "You sure you're feeling okay? Head doesn't hurt?"
"Grey, I'm fine."
"And you're sure you want to--"
"Put me in, coach."
He smirks, but still studies my face for a long moment, like he's looking for a sign I'm not ready. Finally, his lips curve into that smirk and he pulls me closer, which I didn't think was possible. "Well, peaches, I did promise. And I never back down from a promise.Batter up, babygirl."
And then he kisses me.
His mouth is soft and gentle, his hand cradling the back of my head carefully, always so careful. He tastes like sleep and heat and want. His tongue seeks entrance, and I grant it eagerly.
His other hand slides down to cup my ass, pulling my flesh against him. I gasp into his mouth when his cock presses into my hip.
Andthrobs.
He groans, the sound coming from deep, deep in his chest, then pulls back just enough to rasp, "Molly…"
It's half warning, half plea, and hot as hell.
I kiss him again, harder this time, swallowing whatever protest he was going to make.
I feel his restraint slip, our bodies winding together--how do we keep getting closer?--hands roaming, hungry. My fingers skate across his chest, brushing his peaked nipple. The hammer of his heart races beneath my touch. His big hand kneads my ass, guiding my hips against him, the friction maddening, his cock is not close enough, but closer than it's ever been. I rock against it, chasing the pressure, mewling. I'm soaked already, my panties damp, and I can't breathe. I don't want to breathe. But I break the kiss, gasping. He presses his forehead to mine.
Our breaths are ragged, harsh. And when I lean back enough to see his face, his eyes are dark, his pupils blown so wide, there's just a thin ring of gray.
"You feel so good," he groans, capturing my mouth again. His hands haven't stopped moving, still busy squeezing and pulling my ass. The kiss is deep and messy, all tongue and teeth and untethered need. My fingers slide down his chest, his ribs, his stomach, exploring, feeling him. The hard ridges of his abs flex and jump under my touch, then the trail of hair leading down. My palm flattens, fingers splayed. He sucks in a sharp breath--my pinky brushes the band of his boxer briefs, then lower. Not intentional, just curious.
