A shiver shook my shoulders, but I arched my back. “Van.”
“I like when you use that name.” He closed his hand over my entire breast. “I like when you say my full name.”
“Sullivan.”
He groaned and lazily draped his hand over my breast. The scrape of his rough fingertips amped up my desire. My strokes grew faster, and that electricity zipping between us wound its way through me, caressing everything it touched.
“I’m close,” I whispered.
“Do you need to be filled?”
I nodded. My chest rose and fell faster; my heart pounded harder.
“I was trying”—I gasped—“that’s how I fell.”
“Can I?”
If possible, I grew wetter. “Yes.” Please.
He released the counter and, slowly, taking his time, pushed my pajama bottoms down. The little suns on them were earning their smiles tonight. Eventually, they were down far enough that they fell the rest of the way, pooling around my feet. Instead of being shy about being bare, it was more like it was inevitable.
“Spread your legs but keep your hand in place.”
There would be no falling with him this close. Not only would he catch me, but he’d stop me from tipping in the first place.
I widened my stance, and a grunt left him.
“So fucking sexy.”
I’d never been called sexy before.
Before I could dwell on whether he was telling me what he thought I wanted to hear, he covered my hand with his. The slight extra pressure was nearly enough to topple me over the edge, but he didn’t move. His longer fingers were on me, touching me, stroking me.
“Keep rubbing that needy clit of yours, sweet Clover.”
Spurred into action, I did as he asked. I couldn’t help myself. He towered over me, and it didn’t take much for him to curve his fingers and slide one through my seam. Then he pushed inside.
“Van!” My cry echoed off the walls, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Ecstasy built like a thundercloud. The moans and whimpers kept coming.
I fisted his T-shirt as I shook through the tremors. He pumped his finger in and out of me, and he held pressure on my hand, keeping my fingertip on my clit. Everything was perfect. The pressure. The stimulation. How close he was.
The lights. I blinked my eyes open. Nothing about this had been private. My shirt was still off, my nipples stiff peaks. His breathing was raspy, but he’d stilled his hand.
I tried to get a sound out that wasn’t wanton, but I had no idea what to say. “I…”
That prompted him to remove his hand. He crouched down to draw my pants up. Next, he found my shirt and did what I couldn’t do. He got it right side out and tugged it over my head. I was slumped against the counter, and he was dressing me.
Goose bumps rose over my skin, and he rubbed my arms. “You’re cold now?”
I nodded, chilly and numb. What did I do? How did we act around each other? What happened when we got home? “Van?”
I didn’t like how scared I sounded. How vulnerable.
He tipped my chin up. “Your hormones were raging, and you couldn’t get comfortable. I helped you relax.”
I got an orgasm. He got a weird evening and probably an uncomfortable morning. “What about you?”
He cocked a brow and tipped his head to look between us. An impressive erection pushed out from his pajama pants. “I’ll take care of it.”
