Page 82 of Pistol Whipped

“Always wanted to do this,” he mumbles.

I’m not sure what he means until his grip tightens and he tugs me up a little. He clearly knows what he’s doing, because his hand is close enough to my scalp that he’s not actually damaging my hair as he pulls on it. I follow his lead and climb from the floor, over him, until I’m straddling his lap.

This is almost more torturous because now, I can feel the heat of him and his hardness throbbing against my desperate core. The temptation to rise and let him slip inside is there, but I ease it by leaning in for another kiss. His tongue twists with mine. But this isn’t the urgent, frenzied kiss we shared in the alley. It’s not the slow, languid kisses we shared the morning after either. This kiss is deeper. More. In every meaning of the word.

It doesn’t break when he stands, lifting me with him as if I’m nothing but holding me like I’m everything. Without words, he carries me to his bedroom and oh-so-smoothly lays me amongst his pillows. Unlike Trey, who owned one single yellow pillow the entire time we were together, Dutch’s bed has layers of them and a whole ass duvet.

“Okay, Romeo,” I tease after being carried like a damn princess. Yet I find myself more and more turned on the longer he goes without saying a word. He lets his gaze wander, and his brown eyes rove over me, taking in every inch. He strips away his T-shirt, jeans and boxers until he’s standing at the edge of his bed, fully naked. The lights are low in here, but his tattoos are on full display. His arms and body are muscular, not from time spent in any gym, but from drumming and years of damn hard work, years of holding others down while no one did the same for him. Physically, and in every other way, he’s just so damn beautiful it steals my breath.

I reach for him then, pulling him by the arm until I can kiss his wrist, his bicep, his shoulder, his neck. My lips touch every bit of skin I can as his body settles over mine, until our mouths reunite us in another passionate embrace.

That kiss only ends because I crave more. I crave the heat of his skin on mine. Firstly, I pull his shirt from my body, tossing it away before reaching down for my panties. My hands are stalled before I reach my hips.

“Let me,” Dutch says. For all his strength, his touch is delicate as he releases my wrist and goes to rid me of the last barrier between us. Then it’s my turn to stay his hand when he goes to reach for his nightstand.

Confusion laces his face. “But Rainy, condom?”

I shake my head and offer up one of the only answers I’ve got, “I want to feel you. All of you.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice rough, nearly choked with the same lust that’s soaking the inside of my thighs.

My mind whirrs, second-guessing myself, unsure if this is something he’ll want with me, even though, since he confessed his feelings, he’s given me no reason to doubt him.

“If you are,” I manage to reply in a tight whisper.

Dutch braces himself up on one arm, creating enough space between our bodies for me to brace for rejection, for mistrust. Instead, his free hand brushes a strand of hair from my shoulder. Each soft touch of his is almost more damning than the rougher sex I’m used to.

My skin is electrified everywhere his fingers trace as they slink up my neck so he can tilt my chin up to look at him.

“Oh, Rainy-girl, I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

There is nothing but adoration in those soulful eyes. I’m not just wanted or desirable. I’m cherished. It’s cheesy as hell, but for the first time in a long time, I remember why people call it making love.

Chapter 36

A Drop in the Ocean

Dutch

We take our time. Going bare like this, with Rain, has me already near breaking point, so I go slow. Each stroke of my cock plays her body in a steady rhythm. With each push and pull, her hips follow me, desperate to keep me close. I revel in it. Not just the feel of her, but the way her whole chest flushes a pale pink, and her eyes screw up tight the closer she gets to the edge. Even better is when they open at the sound of my voice, bringing her back to me each time I say her name.

The climax we build together isn’t an explosive lightning crash. It’s a slow tsunami; the kind of wave you watch building for miles and miles until it crests against the shore with such force you are powerless. Her inner muscles lock around me. Her thighs shake with the intensity, and when she finally cries my name in ecstasy, I am helpless but to follow her.

My rhythm falters, my brain shorts out, and I roar as ropes of cum spill inside her. More than I could have predicted. So much that seeps around the edges of my dick before I even withdraw from her body.

Rain’s body quivers with aftershocks, and we’re both breathing hard. Every tremor between us fills me with satisfaction. But that is nothing compared to what I experience as I pull out of her and sit back. I’m a man who believes in aftercare, and planned to get a cloth from my bathroom so I could take her clean up. Instead, I’m confronted by the sight of my seed coating the swollen, glistening skin of her pussy.

Mesmerized, any thoughts of leaving or cleaning my claim from her with anything other than my mouth fly away. I’m not sure what comes over me. I’ve never done this before, never longed to taste myself on a woman before. Yet not doing so with Rain Gamble is unthinkable.

I go slow, knowing she’s still sensitive from her first orgasm. Gentle kisses pepper her thighs first. She interrupts, “Dutch, what—”

“Shhhh, babygirl, let me clean you up.”

That’s all the explanation she’s getting. My head dips again; those earlier kisses become soft lashes with my tongue. I’m greeted by my own salty taste, yes, but more than that, my senses are flooded with our combined essence. Her arousal, berry-tart, has me coiling my arms around her thick thighs so I lift her closer to get more access to her pussy.

It doesn’t take long before her hips start to buck, seeking more of my tongue. She sings my name with every breath, and when I suck her clit into my mouth, her notes become a scream of pleasure that lasts until her body goes limp in my arms.

This time, we’re both so exhausted afterwards that we fall asleep. She’s tucked against me, and my arms hold tight to the woman whose every cell is precious to me. It’s late, I think, or should I say early by that point, and both of us need the rest.