Our lips touch in a feather soft caress.
Ellie
For the entire week, I’ve been imagining this moment, the one where we would finally kiss. And my imagination came up short – way short. I knew there would be chemistry, but I didn’t quite grasp how overwhelming it would be, how very decadent.
With his hand holding me steady, our mouths begin to play and tease until we find a rhythm that has my stomach swooping and twirling with lazy euphoria, lighting me up from the inside out. I don’t think he can believe how good it is either because he’s making these small, gratifying noises that cause my blood to bubble and fizz with arousal as one long kiss bleeds into another and then another and another.
Is this real? Is Scott really kissing me?
I lean into him, and his other hand joins the first at my neck. The sudden firmness of his grip sends more lust careening through me as he takes control, demanding I open to him. And if I thought his lips were good, the first brush of his tongue against mine is sublime.
“Jesus,” he mutters before he comes back for another taste with an urgency that has my head swimming and heat pooling low in my belly.
Soon he’s pressing himself closer, molding the tall, hard length of his body to mine. How I’ve wanted this. We fit together seamlessly, like an erotic jigsaw puzzle with our arms twining and his knee pushing between my thighs. He rocks his hips into me, and I gasp against his tongue as a streak of bliss radiates out from my core.
Wanting more of that, I slip my hands from his waist to his ass, trying to pull him more firmly against me. He takes the cue and surges forward again, his thigh pinning my hips to the door. I whimper at the intensity of being held down and bask in the delicious traces of the orgasm that are beginning to take hold.
“Look at you,” he rasps, his eyes devouring what I’m sure is my drugged, heavy-lidded expression. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than you at this very moment.”
I’m so busy writhing against him, longing for the bliss to coalesce that I can barely hum some kind of agreement. God, is that his dick pressing into my hip?
My mewls gain in volume as I squirm and buck over his thigh, but he just takes hold of my chin and turns my head to the side. “I could watch you like this all night,” he whispers into my ear, his tone vibrating down my spine. “All stirred up . . . just for me.”
I choke on a moan as his mouth leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the side of my neck, each one searing its way down my body to settle between my thighs, joining the already all-consuming ache. The need to satisfy that ache has my hands tracing up the muscles in his back that shift and bunch under the thin fabric of his dress shirt until I reach his shoulders. I use the leverage to wrap a leg around his thigh, pulling him closer, opening myself up to him.
This time we both groan before our mouths crash back together. It’s manic now, hard and ravenous. He fills a palm with my breast, squeezing, hurtling me ever closer to completion. My fingers scrabble against the back of his shirt, looking for purchase on the slippery material to pull it from his pants. And all the while, his hips continue to tease and hint at how good it’s going to be to get this man inside of me.
I’d love nothing more than to live in this moment forever, high on his presence, reveling in his touch, hovering near the ultimate release, but my body insists on more.
“Scott,” I whine, my frustration mounting when I can’t get at all the warm skin I know is under his shirt.
“Let me,” he murmurs against my mouth. But instead of working to get his own shirt off, he moves back to pull my T-shirt up and over my head.
I’m not wearing a bra, so I should probably feel vulnerable there in front of him with our chests heaving, trying to catch our breaths, but I don’t. There’s nothing but wonder in his expression. I’m grateful for the support of the door behind me when he reaches out to run the backs of his knuckles gently over a tightly furled and very sensitive nipple.
“Your turn,” I say, so impatient now.
His eyes snap up to mine, making me shiver again at the intensely carnal yet slightly displeased look on his face. Does he not like me making demands? Before I have a chance to examine that thought, he’s doing as I asked.
One by one, he works the buttons through their holes on his dress shirt, slowly exposing a sliver of skin down the center of his chest. I hold my breath as he finally peals it off.
My hungry gaze tries to take in the view of his bare chest all at once, racing over the beautiful caramel skin from his broad shoulders to his tapered waist. He’s all lean, all muscled, all . . . perfect. The dusting of hair across his pecs is closer to brown than the blond on his head, and his happy trail takes me down to the very substantial bulge in his pants I’d gotten an inkling of earlier.
He doesn’t give me much time for ogling though. In a heartbeat, his mouth is back on mine and the first feel of his soft chest hair is wondrous against my nipples.
I want him so badly it hurts.
As we kiss and kiss and kiss, we explore. My fingertips roam the exposed expanse of his back while his rough and callused fingertips trace my stiff nipples and cup my breasts until I’m a writhing, anxious mess under his touch.
“I . . . Scott, I –”
He pulls back, his gaze intense and probing, seeming to weigh what I’m asking for.
“Let’s go to my room,” I whisper.
His narrowed gaze tells me he definitely doesn’t like me trying to call the shots, and for a second, I think he’s going to deny me. But slowly, he moves back, letting cold air move between us.
Walking backwards, he starts unbuckling his belt and my jaw falls open slightly. “Coming?” he asks, his slightly mocking tone and the whoosh of his belt through the loops turning my knees to water. I push off from the support of the door despite my unsteady legs. Nothing could keep me from him at this point. I work my sleep shorts down my hips as I follow him, watching him strip off his pants.
We don’t make it far. In the kitchen, our feet come to a standstill and we just stare at each other. He’s truly something to behold in his boxer briefs, the black dramatic against his skin, his very hard dick outlined against the fabric.
“Fucking hell, El,” he says hoarsely, reminding me we’re both in the same state of undress. “Come here.”
Closing the distance between us, I wiggle out of the last stitch of my clothing and then skim my fingertips over his warm skin from his collar bone all the way down to the elastic of his underwear. Our eyes meet and hold as I slowly free his straining erection. I want to hiss out a triumphant Yes! when I get my first look at him; nature did not cut any corners when Scott McCarthy was constructed. He’s long and thick, and the way the V of his hips frames the sight is mouth-watering. I don’t know what I want more, to drop to my knees or demand that he fuck me this very second. Neither of those choices are on his radar, though, because he wastes no time before one of his hands threads into my hair so he can plunder my mouth, while the other pushes between my thighs to cup me. The base of his palm bears down on my clit, and the pulse of bliss is so strong it buckles my knees.
He hums his approval, catching my sagging weight. And all the while his lips never break from mine, devouring my pleasure like it’s the most appetizing thing he’s ever tasted. Once I’m a bit steadier on my feet, he shuffles me back until my butt hits the edge of the counter. He props me up and my hands find his biceps, trying desperately to give myself an anchor. Pulling back enough to focus on me, he strokes a finger along my slit and my whole body tenses with anticipation.