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I’d wondered about this. Waking up with my panties still on. With his underwear too. The hold was proprietary, but there was no twinge of soreness, no sticky fluids dripping down my thighs. No condom wrapper tossed on the bedside table. But…
“I remember an orgasm.” It’s one of the few things Idoremember about that night. I remember a hand between my thighs and coming like a freight train.
“It was you.” He’s given up the distance, chasing my mouth again. We aren’t even kissing, just rubbing our lips together so they can touch. “You pushed me to my absolute fucking limit, stripping out of that little white dress—it pooled on my floor like water, Tristan—and then, while I was distracted by the curve of your tits and the perfect pink of your nipples, you had a hand down the front of your panties. I should have stopped you. I should have left the room. I should have done just about anything, but it was taking all the blood left in my brain to stop myself from reaching for you and giving you an orgasm you didn’t have to work for.”
I climb him like a tree. One minute my feet are on my linoleum floor, pressed up on my tippy toes to get as close to this man as I can, and then my legs are around his waist. We’re face to face—almost—and his hand is cupping my ass as he crushes me between his chest and my refrigerator.
It feels like we might hurtle out of control. Tumble right off a cliff into an abyss with no end, but I can’t stop the shiver in my veins or the rocking of my hips. I wouldn’t want to, even if I could. This conflagration has been building for weeks. Maybe even years. One look, one brush of arms or fingers, one laugh, one nickname, one teasing joke, at a time. Smoothies, and naked chests and puppies and the way he looks, looks, looks, at me.
“Tristan,” we’re both panting. “I need to tell you—”
“Later,” I say, tightening my legs around his waist. “I want that orgasm I don’t have to work for. Maybe more with interest.” And then I press my mouth to his for real, licking along the seam of his lips and swallowing his groan.
There’s something I’m forgetting. Something big. Something important. But I can’t think past the feel of Tristan’s mouth, her lips, her tongue swiping lazy circles around mine.
I’m not a man who folds under pressure. I have the highest shootout percentage on the Arctic. I win more face-offs than I lose. I’ve barreled onto the ice with seconds left on the clock aiming for that tie-goal to take us to overtime. I’ve held onto my mother as she sobbed over my twin’s hospital bed. I have nerves of steel honed through years of practice. Shove all those pesky fears and doubts down. Smile and nod, shrug your shoulders, look friendly. Affable. Be in control.
But I can’t stop my hands from shaking as I press Tristan into the stainless steel front of her refrigerator and cup my hands under the curve of her ass. I can’t stop the sounds that wrench from the well of my chest. I can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t stop kissing her. She tastes sweet and spicy as she devours me, like the tea I know she loves. Her arms press into my traps as she tries to boost herself higher, get a better angle. I press a knee to the fridge and help shift her up.
She throws her head back as she sucks in a breath, an audible thunk against the hanging calendar behind her. My mouth is already dragging across her chin, her jaw, down the long line of her delicate throat. She’s gasping, rolling her hips against my abdomen, and I’m nipping at her skin with my teeth. My brain wipes clean, not a conscious thought to be had. Instinct guides me to leave quarter-sized marks along the column of her neck. My ring on her finger, my hands on her ass, my claim on her skin.
Fuck.
My hips jerk, seeking friction.
This woman has been starring in my fantasies for the better part of my Quarry Creek career. I love the dip of her waist. The trio of freckles at the base of her neck. I want to drag my tongue over both. I want to know the color of her nipples. My only goal is to make her come. As many times as she’ll let me. In as manywaysas she’ll let me.
I can hold her weight with one hand, and I free my left to slide up her side. She shivers under my touch and I wonder if she can feel the ring on my finger even through the thick fabric of her dress. The same dress with the skirt hiked to her waist. If I dip my eyes down, I’ll be able to see her panties. Her pussy. That visual will ruin my self-control, ruin me.
I barely survived in Vegas, watching her slide her hand down the front of a tiny pair of white cotton panties. Watching the small wet spot grow as her fingers found her clit and circled. She’d come hard and fast, which might have been the only thing that saved us both. Another moment of watching her stretch for that peak and I’d have hit my knees, burying my face in her cunt.
Her face presses to my chest, mouth panting a damp patch onto my shirt. The breath is sawing out of my lungs like I’ve never run a mile in my life. I’m a professional fucking athlete. I’m at my physical peak. We aren’t even fucking naked yet. Zero items of clothing on the floor, and I can barely suck in enough oxygen with her finally in my arms.
My fingers skate over the curve of her tit and Tristan moans. The sound flows over my ears and sinks into the atoms that make up my muscles, my blood, my bones. I’m undone. Nothing exists outside of this moment. This kitchen. This woman. I need this dress pooled at our feet. I need to know she’s in this with me.
“Tristan.”
She doesn’t hear me, or she doesn’t react.
“Kitty cat.”
Still nothing. I slip my hand away from her glorious chest and bracket her throat, tipping her head back so she has to look at me. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes a hazy blue behind wide-blown pupils. Her lips are kiss-swollen, still red even after I destroyed her lipstick. She wets them with her tongue and I almost forget what I’m doing, almost lunge for her mouth again.
“Baby.” My fingers flex against her skin and her eyes roll back, lashes fluttering and fuck. She likes the grip I have on her throat. She likes the pressure. I put as much steel into my voice as I can, “Tristan, look at me.” She does. “I’m going to get this dress off you. Do you want that?”
Her nostrils flare and she squirms against my chest, ankles crossing behind my waist. I can feel her arousal through the cotton of my shirt. I’m going to lose my fucking mind here. I can’t resist the light kiss I press against her mouth. She tries to chase my lips as I pull back.
“I need words, baby. Do you want this dress on the floor?”
She nods, “Yes. Please. Yes—”
I’m pulling down her zipper before she’s done. Her bare back touches the fridge and she flinches. It’s easy to take two steps to my right and slide her onto her counter. She’s lower than she was in my arms, harder to kiss, but her counter height is perfect. I pull her hips to the edge of the granite and rock my cock against her center. Her head falls back, and if I wasn’t still gripping her throat, she’d have brained herself on the cabinets.
I fumble for the zipper at the back of her neck, and it’s a miracle how I get her dress pulled down to her waist. Then I’m almost braining myself because her tits are free and utterly magnificent. I release her throat to cup them in my hands, rolling the weight over my fingers. Her skin is smooth and pale, each swell topped with a dusky nipple. I suck one into my mouth, unable to stop myself as my fingers find the other one.
“I’ve been waiting for this.” I press the words into her skin, feeling the hitch in her breath and fuck me. This is the best I’ve ever had, and she’s still in her underwear. I’m still fully dressed. “I swear you were created just to mess with my head.”
Her fingers wind into my hair, pulling on the strands, and she shifts her hips. I need her naked now. I’ve been patient enough. I drop my hands to tug her dress the rest of the way down before I let it drop onto the floor. The fabric settles against my feet. Fuck. I didn’t even get my shoes off. I switch sides, paying her other nipple some much-needed attention as I toe off my sneakers and kick them somewhere behind me. I’m not concerned about where they went. I’m hoping I won’t need them for a long time.
