Page 48 of Direct Action

“Chlo—” Her thumb silenced me, as did the shake of her head.

“No talking,” she whispered, releasing the pressure to resume her sketch of my lips.

I lay still with my hand resting on her hip, allowing her to take whatever she needed. It took approximately two seconds before she did just that. Her head tipped back, her lips went to the underside of my jaw, and she pressed the sweetest kiss there before she moved down to my neck, doing the same. Then lower to my shoulder, my pec, my nipple.

Christ, she was going to kill me.

From there she shifted her body lower, added her hand to my chest, and pushed. I gave her what she’d nonverbally asked for and rolled to my back just as her lips hit my stomach with the addition of her tongue.

Fuck.

Her soft body snug against my side, heaven.

Her mouth on me, a goddamn miracle.

But it was the middle of the night and just hours after Chloe had basically cried herself to sleep.

“Chloe,” I tried again.

“Shh.”

“Baby, I’ll happily lie here and let you do whatever you want, but first I need to know if you’re sure this is what—”

“Positive,” she said against my stomach, then, as a follow up, swiped her tongue along the band of my boxers.

Christ.

My hands fisted the sheets, my jaw clenched, and I fought for control. Or more to the point, I fought not to take control.

Her hand glided down my stomach. My abs responded by contracting under her palm. She paused her descent to use her fingertips to lightly skim up and down, her tongue still working magic, testing my willpower to such an extreme, I locked my body.

Chloe froze, lifted her head, and looked up at me.

“Do you not . . . Is it okay . . . I mean . . .”

It took me a moment to decipher her broken question.

“I told you, you can do whatever you want.”

“But . . .” She trailed off, her fingertips digging into my stomach muscles.

“Chloe, baby, I’m trying really hard to lie here and let you take your time with whatever it is you want to do.”

I knew the moment Chloe understood my plight.

Her head tipped down, her fingertips went back to lightly grazing my stomach, but they didn’t stop until she was tracing my hard-on through my boxers.

“You want to touch me.”

“Fuck yeah I want to touch you.”

“But you’re not going to.”

Good Christ. Never in my life did I think I’d be in danger of blowing my load with nothing more than a barely there touch of my dick and a teasing purr.

“That depends,” I told her honestly.

“On what?”