He scraped his teeth over his lower lip. “Say it again.”
“Atticus.”
He pulsed his hips up against me, his cock pressing along the seam of my jeans. He drew me closer until our lips brushed then hishand slid around to cup my breast. “Is there still paint on this pretty breast?”
I licked my lips. “Maybe.”
His hand was still under my sweater and my breath went ragged when he scraped a nail under my nipple before tugging lightly. He flicked his tongue along the bow of my upper lip. “Lift your sweater.”
I leaned back, resting my butt on his thighs. I dragged his fingers over the softness of my belly and used his hand to push the sweater up. His gaze locked on each inch I revealed.
He bunched up the fuzzy angora, a groan rumbling through his chest when he pushed it up around my neck. I was going to pull it off, but his mouth covered my nipple and I lost my fine motor function.
My fingers tangled in his hair as I held him against me. He went from one to the other, tasting and roughly tugging at my tight tips until the beard burn and friction held me in a thrall. I rocked against his lap, needing more. Needing to get closer.
But I loved this hazy verge of oblivion.
I didn’t want to go over.
I wanted this bit of edging to last forever.
Either he was a masochist, or he felt the same.
I brushed his hair out of his eyes as he looked up at me, my nipple trapped between his teeth. His eyes were glazed and his pupils blown wide like an abyss. Endless. Dangerous in a way that made my pulse skyrocket.
This wasn’t just a hookup.
It was as if we were feeding off one another on another level.
His free hand reached around to grab my ass, pulling me in until his cock notched against the seam of my jeans.
The sudden free fall had me grabbing his shoulders.
He ground me down against him, his breath ragged. I threw my head back, my spine bowing. He didn’t stop. In fact, he practically drop kicked me into the most intense orgasm I’d had in years. Everything inside of me fisted, then unfurled like a daisy reaching for sunlight.
I couldn’t stop the laugh that burst out of the supernova of pleasure.
I sagged back on his long legs until my head draped off his knees.
“Jesus, Phoebe.”
I fluttered my fingers in a carefree wave. “Don’t worry, I won’t fall.”
His fingers gripped my thighs, his fingers finding the holes in my jeans to grip me even more firmly. My chest heaved as if I’d run ten miles. At least what I imagined ten miles felt like.
I’d never run in my life.
“I don’t know what that was, but I want more of it.” I drew my fingers along the skin of my belly through the rivulets of sweat I hadn’t realized had formed.
When he didn’t reply I sat up. “Sorry, I did not reciprocate. Bad Phoebe.” I tried to go for his buckle but he stopped my hands. “What?”
“I’m good.”
I frowned. “That looks like you’re lying—painfully.”
“I’m good.”
The hot lust was banked now, under a chilly demeanor. What the hell happened?
