His long, square fingers unfastened his belt, lowered his zipper, but when he stretched out next to me, his hands abandoned his task to stroke the curve of my breast. On its path, his thumb grazed my nipple—it tightened, reaching for his touch as it passed. His thigh slid between mine until that corded muscle rested firmly against the place that wanted him so acutely. The locking of our legs pressed the hard length of him against my hip, and God, how I wanted to slip my fingers into his pants and touch him. But instead, I was still, knowing he wanted to pay some tribute, some homage to me that required nothing but my presence.
Every touch was slow, every moment drawn out. The slide of his hand into my bra that exposed my breast. The feathery feel of his fingertips skimming the tender skin, circling my nipple. The sight of him lowering his parted lips, the shock of pleasure at the heat of his mouth. A whimper from me, and his tenderness tightened with desire, a sharp intake of breath and a hard draw of my breast.
My fingers found their way into his dark hair as he spent a long, lovely moment where he was. With a snap of his fingers, my bra was undone and discarded, and when he returned to my body, it was with his chest spreading my thighs and his lips on a path toward my hips.
I propped myself up with a pillow, not wanting to lose the indulgent sight of him, his black lashes fanned on his cheeks, brows soft with desire, lips deft, tongue masterful. Big hands hooked the waist of my panties, backing away only to rid me of them, to leave me naked, unwrapped and waiting for his pleasure. First with fingertips, slicked with my heat, tracing the rippling flesh, circling the swollen tip of me. Then with his eyes, cataloging every stroke. Then with his blessed mouth, his divine tongue, the hallowed act of which stretched time out to minutes or hours.
Distantly, I felt his shoulders beneath my thighs, his hands splayed on my hips to hold me still. The chill in the room bit my skin, but I was hot despite it, the distinction sharp and sweet. But my awareness shrank, tightening, receding to the point where his lips latched him to me.
My body was his. The arch of my back, the roll of my hips, the press of my aching core to his mouth, it was all by his hand, by his lips and tongue.
Nothing about it was fast, even as heat rose within me, as my heart galloped painfully, as the orgasm he wanted from me began to heed the painfully slow call of his tongue. It bloomed through my chest, down my ribs, past my stomach to pool at his lips as they moved with deliberate resolve.
An unhurried flick of his tongue was the strike of a match.
A leisurely draw of my body into his mouth fanned the ember into flame.
A deep, rumbling moan, and I shattered.
Every shift of his mouth jolted my thighs, bucked my hips, set a cry on my lips. A groan and a hiss from him and from me, but he didn’t relent. The sight of him buried between my legs sent another pulse of pleasure through me, and I scrabbled at his shoulders, shifting my legs, reaching for him.
He broke away, drunken and wild. Swollen lips met mine with relief and determination, and with me hanging on his neck, he laid us down, let me go, and backed away.
He rose before me, a god, not a man, his power over me absolute. I drank in the sheen of his skin glittering across his broad chest, the hard disks of his pecs, the ridges of his abs, down to his narrow waist. His pants hung open, his cock hard and long, his crown escaping the band of his boxer briefs.
My body clenched at the sight.
I watched him undress, watched every inch of skin as it was bared, mesmerized. Because it wasn’t only his skin he revealed when he met my eyes. It was the bold and naked truth of his heart, the deep and unbound longing of his soul. And the sight wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a slip of a mask or a moment of revelation.
It was a deliberate undressing of his very self, offered with the reverence of a sacrifice. It was a gift, one he’d never given before. One I’d never been given. One neither of us had received.
When I opened my arms, he occupied them. When he kissed me, I held that gift on tender lips. When he filled my body with his, I was given that promise I’d wished for. Without words, he promised me everything, swore his devotion. And I knew in my marrow that he would honor that vow.
We were a wave, a slow wave of pleasure, a long stroke of love. We were racing pulses and shallow breaths. We were lost in the depths of each other’s eyes, drowning in the bottomless fissures of our hearts. We poured ourselves in until each overflowed with the other, until neither could be distinguished. Together, our hearts stopped. Together, they kicked back to life. Together they raced, together, we came. And together, we came down, tangled in each other’s arms with a single, infinite wish.
That we’d forever stay there.
20
Hear Me Out
MARCUS
A grueling and endless week ground me down like a stone mill.
I’d only seen Maisie once in the last seven days since neither of us was willing to tip her mother off. Since the hearing, Evelyn had been breathing fire down Maisie’s neck, leaving zero room for error. So I buried myself in work, and Maisie divided her time between the charity and shadowing in the advertising department. I’d spent nights with my family, and she’d caught up on time with her dad, which I’d heard involved a John Hughes movie binge and repotting her collection of plants in her room.
There was no way for her to get away, not with her mother hot on our scent. And as such, we’d spent a miserable week apart.
But today, I whistled my way into Longbourne, light as could be.
Because tonight, Maisie was coming over.
She’d set up a cover with her friend Jess from work—they were having dinner and going for a drink as far as her mother knew. They’d even planned on leaving work together and sharing a cab over to my place.
All I had to do was survive a few more hours, and then I could fill up on Maisie.
Ivy was at the register with her baby strapped to her chest, the shop busy as usual. She gave me a shifty look when I walked in, and I gave her a look right back.
“What are you doing here today, Ivy? I thought you were still on maternity leave.”
“I am. But they needed a hand, and I’m gonna be honest, Marcus—I’m bored out of my goddamn mind.”
A laugh burst out of me.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong. Motherhood is great and rewarding and all that. Look at my baby—she’s cute as hell. Who wouldn’t love holding that little thing all day?” She craned her neck to look at said baby, who was asleep and just as cute as she’d said. “But I really needed to put on a bra and brush my hair, and neither of those things were happening without a good reason.”
“Well, I’m glad. Wendy’s not quite ready to take your place, so Tess has been pulling a lot of double duty. So anytime you need an excuse to put on a pair of pants with a zipper, come on in.”
“Psh, a zipper? These are maternity jeans, my blessing and my curse.” She popped the elastic band, just in case I didn’t believe her.
The baby wriggled, and Ivy bounced, patting the curve of the carrier. With a nod and a smile, I headed to the back.
I found Tess next, her face pinched and focus hard on the arrangement of zinnias in front of her.
“Watch out—you’re gonna blow those flowers up if you think at them any harder.”