“I think I’ve rested enough.”
He skims his hand down the side of my face, as if he’s reassuring himself I’m awake. That I’m okay. “Is there anything I can get you? Water? Another pair of socks?”
I wiggle my toes in the comfy socks and shake my head. I run my eyes over his body, the shirt pulling tightly at his muscular chest. “No, but I can think of something else,” I mutter softly. I’m either delirious or grew a backbone in that river.
“Nori…” he warns.
But for once, I don’t listen. I’m tired of playing it safe. Kingston was right. I’m entitled to be exactly what I was made to be. And currently, if all goes according to my plan, that’s underneath Ambrose.
Without allowing myself time to second-guess this, I reach up and pull his face down to mine, crushing my lips into his. He doesn’t pull away, but he also doesn’t deepen the kiss. I slide my tongue along the edges of his lips, teasing and tasting. He lets out a low moan but holds steady in not reciprocating. The need to feel his weight on top of me is overbearing. Suffocating in its intensity. I grip the front of his shirt and pull him down on the bed with me. He braces an arm on the side of my head, holding himself up so he doesn’t crush me with his full weight. I want it, though. I want to be pressed into this mattress under him.
My fingers sink into his shoulder, urging him closer. His other hand sinks into my hair, and his knee goes between my thighs. His restraint is slipping.
I arch up, begging for more. He growls low in his throat and finally, finally deepens the kiss. My fingers curl into the sheets. Our tongues worship each other. The warmth of his hand settles over my stomach as he slowly works his way up, pushing my shirt up and over my breasts. Cold air caresses the peaks before he drags his mouth from mine and works his way down my neck toward my chest. His lips sink over my nipple, pulling it into his mouth. I grip his hair and cry out as he bites down. He quickly licks and sucks it, soothing the sting.
The balance between pleasure and pain is exquisite. I can feel the moisture gathering between my legs. I want more. I want Ambrose to show me everything I’ve been missing all these years while I’ve been waiting. For him. Show me the things he’s learned and save it all for me from now on.
He raises his head and moves to the other breast, giving it equal attention. Slowly, while continuing to lavish my nipple, he slides a calloused hand up my thigh. His deft fingers leave a trail of fire in their wake. The sensations are too much and not enough. A moan tears from my lips when he bites down beforeflicking his tongue over the peak. I tilt his head slightly and press him down harder.
I needmore.
His hand reaches my panties, his fingers trailing over the simple cotton. I know they are soaked. Embarrassingly so. The palm of his hand presses into my mound, rubbing the fabric through the moisture.
A breath whooshes out of me.
Oh my god. Oh my god.
Ambrose Ballard is touching me.
His hand is right there.
I could break just from the thought alone.
The skies darken and lightning cracks outside the window, but it’s nothing compared to the untamed electricity in this room.
I raise my hips, asking for more. I need this like I need the breath in my lungs. Cold air caresses the puckered peak where his mouth just was as Ambrose crashes his mouth over mine. The kiss is laced with urgency and years of restraint. Our tongues dominate each other. I press my knees together, seeking some kind of release as his hand continues to rub over my wet entrance.
He removes his hand from between my thighs and pushes my legs back open. Moving back to my panties, he pushes them to the side and slides a finger through the slick folds.
I moan into his mouth, my fingers digging into his arms.
“Fuck, Nori,” he rasps into my mouth.
His mouth lowers to my shoulder, biting down—hard. Without warning, he sinks a long finger into my entrance. I throw my head back and cry out as he gently moves it back and forth, giving me time to get used to the invasion. “You’re so tight—fuck,” he growls into my skin. “Tell me I’m your first,” he says, low in his throat.
I whimper. “You’re my first.”
“No one’s ever touched you like this?”
I shake my head. Words evade me.
He pumps his finger in and out of me, increasing the speed. He pulls it out and thrusts it all the way back in. He brings me to the brink before pulling back again.
“Please, Ambrose,” I beg.
“Say you’re mine,” he orders, his glacial eyes staring into mine.
I’m on the edge, so close.
