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“Any other time, you saying that would make me inclined to do the opposite.” I grab her ass and hoist her up. Self-control will be tough to find, but I don’t want to rush this. Not when it’s been weeks since I last put my hands on her.
She wraps her arms around my shoulders and her legs around my waist. “But not today?”
I carry her to the kitchen island, biting the edge of her jaw. “Not today.”
“Why not?”
She reaches for my cock again, but I grab her wrists and quickly pin them behind her back with one hand, then wrap my free hand around her throat. If she gets her hands on me again, I’ll lose it. And I want this to be about her. “I need to make up for last time.”
Her eyes go soft. “So touch me.”
I ghost my lips along her cheek. “Tell me where you want my hands.”
Her eyes flip open, and she licks her lips. “Anywhere. Everywhere. I just want to feel you again.”
I brush my lips over hers, release her hands and tug the tie at her waist. She’s naked under the robe. I soak in the sight of her as the fabric drops to the counter.
“I missed this,” she whispers.
“I missed this, too.” I circle her nipple with a fingertip. “Why don’t you unbutton my shirt while I show you how sorry I am for being such a dick?”
“That sounds like a great idea.”
She pulls my tie loose—even though I wasn’t flying with the rest of the team, I still wore a suit home—and pulls it over my head, then gets to work on the buttons. Her hands are shaking, so she struggles with the first two.
And I’m no help because I ease a single finger inside her and pump twice as a distraction. She whimpers when I remove it and bites her lip when I suck it clean. I add a second finger and pump twice more, repeating the same action, sucking my fingers clean before I fuck her with them. I purposely evade the spot inside that makes her eyes roll up—not to be a dick, but because it makes her orgasms more intense. It takes an eternity for her to unbutton my shirt.
When she does, I release her throat and drop to my knees so I can kiss a path up the inside of her right thigh. She runs her fingers through my hair and grips the strands. But she doesn’t try to shove my face into her pussy.
“Not gonna try to rip my hair out this morning?”
I blow on her clit, then start kissing the same path from her left knee up the inside of her thigh.
“It doesn’t usually work to my advantage.” Her toes curl against my side.
I hum in agreement. “I’m trying to hold back, but I’m too hungry for the taste of you.” I push her thighs wider and lick up the length of her.
“Oh, fuck.” Her fingers tighten in my hair and her hips roll.
“So fucking good, Bea.” I bite the inside of her thigh. I want to keep her balanced on the edge, to savor her slowly, but my need for her is overwhelming.
All it takes is a few strokes of tongue and one clit suck and she’s moaning my name as her body quakes. I stand, drag the head of my erection along her slit, and push inside. Her eyes roll up as she clenches around me. I take a moment to savor the way it feels to be with her again. How fucking lucky I am that she’s so damn forgiving.
But I don’t start moving. “Look at me, Bea. I want your eyes on me when I’m fucking you.”
They flip open, hazy and hot with need.
“That’s better.” I stroke her cheek. “Wrap your legs around me and hold on.”
She laces her fingers behind my neck and hooks her feet at the small of my back. I hold her hips and start thrusting—lazy strokes that make her moan and clench around me. But I can’t get enough of her, can’t get deep enough, close enough.
“Can I see your bedroom now?” I slide my hands under her ass.
“First door on the right.” She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses my jaw.
I carry her across the apartment to her bedroom. I don’t turn her into a pretzel. Instead I stretch out on top of her and keep her wrapped around me. I go slow, taking my time, because I don’t want this to end. I want to stay here with her, in this place where we can’t get enough of each other. Where I can make her feel good. Where I can’t do something else to fuck this up.
Two hours later, Bea and I are tucked into a booth at a diner across the street from her place. She’s suggestively eating a sausage link. “Nothing beats the real thing.” She dips the end into the pool of maple syrup on her plate and nibbles it before dragging it through the syrup again. “I remember that time your dad sent you over with a huge bottle when we were kids. That was the first time I had the real stuff, and nothing else compared after that.”
