“What in the hell did I do to deserve to be this lucky?” He lets out a tight laugh and shakes his head. “I’m a bastard if I keep this up.”
At his words, I’m pulling back to meet his gaze. Frowning, I meet his eyes. “You’d better not think about stopping. Not after I finally got you to touch me. I want to feel your fingers.”
Leaning back, I reach behind me and slowly pull at his wrists so I can take control of his hands. It’s almost laughable how easy it is to tug him away and move him as I please. But even more funny is the way he flushes when I abandon one of his hands so I can concentrate on the other, automatically pressing it to my front, right between my thighs.
“Fuck.” He curses again, much softer this time. Shifting, he widens his thighs beneath me, forcing my legs even furtherapart. “Why stop at just my fingers, sweetheart? I could give you my tongue, too.”
At his gravelly suggestion, I realize just how good of an idea that is. A great one, in fact. The best ever.
With a dip of my chin, I’m confident this man is going to give me that much, and more.
6
Abel
Tatum stands before me, and I can’t breathe. Not because I’m struggling to believe this is happening—I’m past that now. No, it’s because her breasts are out, full and perfect in the morning light, and her thumbs are hooked into the waistband of those shorts like she’s about to unwrap the only gift I’ll ever want.
Every nerve in my body is firing at once. My mouth goes dry. My cock thickens, straining against my pajama pants so insistently that I have to shift just to ease the pressure. Christ. I’ve never wanted anything the way I want her right now. Never felt this kind of clawing hunger that starts in my gut and spreads outward until my whole body aches with it.
She came out here with her demands already prepared, and now she’s stripping down like she’s finally decided to stop running from whatever this thing is between us. But even as my blood runs hot, even as I watch her fingers flex against thoseshorts like she’s daring herself to push them down, my brain won’t shut up.
What if she regrets this? What if she gets halfway through and realizes she wanted her first time to be with someone she loves—someone permanent? Someone who isn’t just a guy on a mountain she barely knows?
Could that be me?
The question burns. And seeing her stand there, flushed and impatient, squirming under my gaze as if she might actually combust if I don’t touch her soon—it makes me want to risk everything. Even if this ends with my heart in pieces, I’ll never forgive myself for not trying.
I scoot back from the table, clearing space, pushing aside everything in my path. I don’t want coffee or breakfast. I don’t want anything except her. The only meal I’m hungry for is Tatum, spread out right here where I can taste every inch.
Her shorts hit the floor as a pool of silk at her feet, and I’m gone—every coherent thought evaporates. My hands actually shake with the need to grab her, to haul her onto this table and bury myself inside her until we both forget our own names. The impulse to scoop her up is almost overwhelming, to plant her on the edge and feast until she’s screaming.
Ineedto go slow. Without question, it’s a must.
I force the words through my head like a mantra. She’s worked up, yes. Flushed, ready, and clearly wanting this. But one wrong move—one moment of me letting this hunger take over—and she could panic. She could bolt. She could look at me with regret instead of that desperate heat in her eyes.
That’s the last thing I want.
So, even if it feels like pulling teeth, I stay still. I let her come to me. But God, every second she stands there, every heartbeat that passes without my mouth on her skin, the hunger sinks its claws deeper.
I’ve never been this hard in my life. Never wanted to consume someone so completely, and she has no idea. No idea that I’m barely holding myself back. That I’m this close to devouring her whole.
The second she’s naked, stepping out of her clothes like she’s unwrapping my birthday present, I forget how to breathe. She’s radiant in a way that makes my eyes ache—all soft curves and blushing skin, and fuck, she’s finally within my reach. Finally ready to give herself to me.
When she takes my hand and steps between my legs, that shy little smile threatens to undo me completely.
“Sit on the edge there for me, sweetheart. Let me see what you’re offering me.”
She bites her lip, hesitating. “You’re sure right here is okay? You… eat here.”
I nod, fighting a grin. Not the time to tease. “That’s what I plan on doing. Plus, the reminder of you every time I sit here? Not exactly a hardship.”
What a lie. It’ll be torture. Every time I settle into this chair from now on, I’ll feel the ghost of her thighs under my palms, smell the sweet musk of her wanting. My cock thickens just thinking about it. Worth it, though. So worth it when she lifts herself onto the edge and lets her thighs fall open.
Jesus. She’s slick. Pink and glistening and so fucking pretty that I can’t look away. My mouth floods, and I have to swallow hard to keep from drooling like some kind of animal. I’m not entirely sure I succeed.
“Don’t be shy, Tatum…” I gently wrap my hands around her ankles and bend her knees. Planting her open, I’m inhaling deep in hopes of teasing myself with a hint of her flavor.
Every ounce of brain power is going toward not imagining burying myself inside her. Not yet. If she’s a virgin—and the way she’s squirming, that bashful little wiggle that has me grippingthe chair arms—I need to learn her first. Learn what makes her gasp, what makes her arch, what makes her fall apart.
