Everything about Caymen suggested he was the hard, fast, dirty, and wholly satisfying type when it came to sex.
I didn’t know how to reconcile that assumption with the man towering over me then.
But finally—finally—he folded forward, coming over me, and sucking one of my nipples into his mouth.
A pained moan escaped me as I arched off the table and into his mouth. My hand slapped on the back of his neck, holding him to me as his lips sucked, his teeth grazed, and his tongue circled.
Desire was a coil twisting tighter with each passing second as he moved across my chest and continued the torturous pleasure.
His hands moved backward, sliding my skirt up until it was pooled around my waist. Then his fingers were moving back down, teasing over my skin until my muscles were shaking with need.
Only then did he grab my knees, lift them up, then spread them wide and press them to the table.
A soft moan escaped me as anticipation teased across my overly sensitive nerve endings.
Caymen lifted up, watching me with half-closed, heated eyes for a long moment.
Then he was lowering down, taking a seat in my damn chair, wrapping his arms around my legs, and pulling until I was where he needed me.
He glanced up one more time, giving me a devilish little twitch of his lips.
Then his face was between my thighs, his tongue tracing up the core of me, making my thighs shake and my back arch.
A low, guttural sound moved through him at my whimper.
Then his arms slid under my legs, curling around them, holding me in place. As if I had any plans on moving away.
But I understood his intention when his tongue finally found my clit, and the shock of sensation had my thighs trying to snap shut.
He wasn’t having it.
Not even as his tongue started to circle and my whole body writhed and fought his hold as the pleasure grew.
My lungs ached as my breath became nothing but short, sharp inhales. My body trembled. My soft whimpers grew to loud, unabashed moans that devolved into something like desperate whimpers as he drove me up, up, up.
All through it, he kept the same steady, relentless, perfect pace, never letting the pleasure ebb for even a second.
So it wasn’t long before the need snapped and the pleasure tore violently through me.
My hands slapped down on his head, holding him against me as he worked me through it.
The waves seemed to keep pulling me under over and over until finally, breathlessly, releasing me.
I sucked in a greedy breath as Caymen’s head shifted, gently kissing the crease of my thigh, then downward, before lifting up and watching me with still-hungry eyes.
I waited for him to reach for me, to pull me down on his lap, to slide a hand between us to free himself so I could lift up, slide down, and feel him fill me.
But he just stood, pulled down my skirt, and gave me a cocky smirk (that he’d totally earned), and stepped away.
“I’m taking a shower.”
Then he just left me there on the table, my world shattered in the most delicious way possible.
I pressed a hand to my hammering heart, feeling a smile tugging at my lips.
Maybe it was wrong, given the shitstorm we found ourselves in, but some part of me was happy to be in the safe house. To be temporarily trapped with Caymen and the mutual interest simmering between us. There was no outside world encroaching, no demands on our time, not much to do but eat,watch the occasional movie, and fall into bed. Together. For hours. Until we were both wrung dry and sore.
With a sigh, I climbed down, cleaned the table, then started to work on the dishes.
