“Mmm,” I groaned, lacing my fingers into his hair.
He moved, shifting his weight, one hand sliding under the hem of my shirt, moving up along my stomach, between my breasts, up and down, up and down.
“Mouth,” I demanded.
Damon didn’t make me wait. His lips falling to mine, hand sliding out from beneath my shirt, and tugging at the buttons on its front, though not making much progress because it was one hand and he wasn’t a magician.
I reached down to help him, our hands tangling as we both struggled with what I was mentally terming the devil’s garment. Eventually, I batted him away, yanking open the line of them. I was so glad I’d taken matters into my own hands when his eyes darted up to meet mine for a moment, fire in their depths, before tracing slowly down the exposed skin.
“Now you,” I whispered.
One flash of movement, one flex of those powerful arms, and his shirt was yanked up and over his head, disappearing somewhere over the edge of the bed.
“I—”
My chance for giving orders was over.
Damon’s mouth dropped to mine for a long, hot kiss, then moved, over my cheek, down my throat, dancing over both collarbones, nudging my bra straps out of the way. His warm hand slipped beneath my back, flicked open the clasp and peeled the lace and cotton garment away, tossing it in the direction of his shirt.
“God, you have the most beautiful set of tits I’ve ever seen,” he said, dropping his head and rubbing the bristles on his jaw lightly on the other side.
Normally, I hated the word tits, but there was something about the gruff way he said it or maybe it was the roughness of his stubble raising goose bumps not on my arms, my nipples pebbling into tight, aching buds that made me not mind the word so much.
He sucked one of my nipples into his mouth, pinching the other lightly between his thumb and forefinger, making my back arch, my hips cant up in need.
And slow disappeared.
He switched sides and pleasure snaked down my spine, my thighs clenching together, moisture pooling between them. I gripped his head, torn between keeping his mouth there and dragging it back up to meet mine again.
In the end I did neither.
Because Damon was moving down my body, tongue leaving heated trails of moisture, teeth punctuating with little bites that made me jump and groan and grip his hair tighter.
Until my hands were extracted from his locks, and his went to work on the button of my slacks, sliding my zipper down, coaxing me to lift my hips so he could tug them down and off my legs.
They went the wayside, trailed quickly by my underwear and then I was naked, Damon shirtless as he crouched between my thighs.
“You, too,” I repeated.
He grinned, that wicked one again that seemed to melt my bones from the inside out, but then he stood, fingers working at the button of his jeans for a heartbeat before they, too, hit the floor.
His boxer briefs stayed on for the moment, though he did reach for the pocket of his pants and pull out his wallet, along with the condom inside it, setting both on the bedside table.
Then he seemed to realize what he was doing and froze. “I’m—”
I reached for his hand. “Don’t ever apologize for protecting me,” I said. “Plus, the responsible thing is to use protection, even if I can’t have a baby.” I tugged him until he came back onto the bed. “I’ve never not used it. Or well, before you corrupted me.”
He brushed a kiss to my lips. “I think you’re the one doing the corrupting.”
I batted my lashes innocently, totally ignoring the fact that I’d slid my hand down his front and was cupping him through the material of his boxers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I squeezed.
He groaned, his hips jerking forward.
“So,” I murmured, still cupping him. “Put it on. Or don’t. But either way, just get inside me.”
“Not quite yet.” He slanted his mouth across mine, kissing me until my heart pounded, my lungs screamed for oxygen, and a sheen of sweat had broken out on my body. “Dam—” I began when he released my lips, but he only allowed me to suck in one short gasp of air before he was kissing me again, one hand coming to rest by my head, the other sliding down and slipping between my thighs.
He groaned again, the sound vibrating along my tongue, making me shudder and gasp . . . or maybe that was because his fingers had slid through the liquid dampening my pussy and then pushed inside.
A blunt invasion that definitely had me gasping, my lips tearing away from his, my head pressing back against the pillows, a long moan erupting.
“Mmm, baby,” he murmured, shifting down, shoulder nudging my legs apart, mouth descending . . . to my belly button, to my hip, to the other . . . and then to my clit. “Oh fuck!” I gasped, pleasure exploding out from my center, filling me with fire. My hands somehow found their way to his hair again, tilting his head, grinding myself against his mouth and tongue, feeling the stubble abrade my sensitive skin, in a good way, in the best way.
No. That was his tongue. Or perhaps, the suction of his mouth. Or his fingers. Or—
All of it. It was all of it.
Because he played my body like he was born to do it, every touch and stroke winding me tighter, every brush of his tongue pushing me closer to the edge.
“Oh God, Damon,” I groaned. “Like that. Please just . . . oh God!”
I exploded, a shower of sparks bursting behind my eyelids, pleasure surging through my limbs, my pussy clenching around his fingers as firmly as my hands clenched in his hair.
It seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of liquid heat coating my skin, flooding through my nerves, making my head spin.
The moment I regained the tiniest bit of use of my body, I was tugging at his head, pulling him up my body. “Now,” I whispered. “Please.”
His underwear disappeared, the condom was grabbed off the nightstand and rolled on, and he was back between my thighs, pushing in, filling me, stretching me . . . expanding me.
And not just my body.
But my heart was expanding right alongside it.
Then he moved, and I stopped thinking about feelings. Instead, I just felt.
Him pulling out and pressing in, his thumb drifting down to my clit, his lips on mine, tongue delving into my mouth, encouraging mine to tangle with his. It was . . . everything and also just the smallest sliver of a moment, our movements crystallized down to a single shared heartbeat, a sharp exhale, a burst of pleasure.
“Come on, baby,” he panted, thumb working my clit, sweat on his forehead. “Come for me.”
I wasn’t far off, sprinting up and up, spinning higher, winding tighter until I fell over the edge with a cry.
He groaned. “That’s it, baby.”
One stroke. Two. Three.
And Damon joined me in plummeting over the other side.
The best part?
Him holding me close as our heartbeats began to slow, his fingers running through my hair, him whispering, “I love you.”
Me whispering back, “I love you, too.”
Fifteen
Damon
Okay, so perhaps bringing Eden to my parents’ house when we were still new, just beginning to figure out our future together wasn’t the best idea.
My mom stood on the front porch, hair tugged into a ponytail, jeans and bright purple sweater encasing her—as she liked to call them—kiddy curves. My father always said she was beautiful, no matter that she complained about the extra weight gained during three pregnancies she’d never been able to fully shed.