Page 6 of Until We Come Home

“That’s a good sound,” he says against my neck, and I feel him smile there while his hand pulls the dress down off my arms.

“No teasing,” I say, breathless, my face gone hot. “I don’t normally squeak.”

“I’m definitely not teasing,” he says, pressing a trail of lingering kisses along my collarbone. “I like the sounds you make. I’d like a few more of them.”

His hand drags down the lace of my bra and he lowers his head, taking my nipple into his mouth, sucking and circling it with his tongue, and the heat of his mouth and scrape of his stubble send electric shivers through me, and I fist my hands in his hair to hold him close, feeling like I have maybe never needed someone more than I need him right now.

"Fuck," he grunts against my skin, the rough vibration humming straight down to my core.

It’s torture, the good kind, the way he takes his time. My bra gets unhooked and tossed over the side of the bed, my other breast gets the same slow attention, and then he kisses his way down my stomach while he peels the dress the rest of the way off me. My underwear follows, dragged down my legs and flung somewhere on the floor.

Then he sits back and looks at me. All of me, slow, from my face down to my toes and back up again, and my whole body goes hot under it.

"You know you're allowed to take your clothes off too," I say, nudging his thigh with my foot. "That's generally how this works."

“I'm enjoying the view." A crooked smile touches his lips.

"Enjoy it with your pants off," I tease, attempting a commanding tone and failing miserably.

He stands and shoves his jeans and boxers down and I squirm with anticipation. He’s thick and hard, the head of his cock already wet at the tip, and I want him inside me so badly I could scream.

I roll over and stretch an arm off the side of the bed to dig through my bag on the chair, and come up with a condom from the side pocket. I toss it at his chest. He catches it and turns it toward the lamp to squint at the edge of the wrapper.

“Good through next spring,” he says. “We’re safe.”

“Of course it is. I’m a responsible woman.” I flop back against the pillows. “Now hurry up before I die of old age.”

He laughs and tears it open with his teeth. Then he’s back over me, settling his weight between my thighs, and he drags the head of his cock through my pussy, slow, up and down, until I’m soaking and squirming and the sheets are bunched in my fists.

I grip his shoulders and pull him down, and his hand closes around my jaw, holding me in place and kissing me so deeply that I’m swimming in stars, dizzy with it, losing my cool far faster than I usually do. His other hand slides down my body and finds my clit, stroking me in slow circles until I’m shaking underneath him.

Whatever control I had is gone and I whimper into his lips, but he only works my clit faster, setting a rhythm that sends electricity straight down to my toes. I’m undone, which almost never happens to me. In the bedroom, I’m usually the one setting the pace, playing the confident, playful guide, but under his touch I’m nothing more than putty, at his mercy.

Wrapping a hand around his cock, he nudges the head against my entrance, and my hips lift to meet him on their own, begging for it. Then he pulls back and looks at me with an intensity so fierce it feels almost naked, stripped of every defense, as if he’s reading right through me. It’s more intimate than a fling has any right to be.

I stay caught in his gaze, forgetting every rule I have about a one-night stand or a stranger, and I fear for a moment that I might give this man anything he wants, anything at all. His fingers trace along my jaw, my cheek, his eyes moving over my face like I’m made of gold and he’s memorizing where every piece of it sits. He looks back up into my eyes, his thumb brushing my lips.

His other hand guides himself to my opening, and his brown eyes hold mine as he pushes inside me, so steady I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to. I’m filled so deeply I almost can’t take it, an overwhelm of sensation that leaves me exposed and open to him.

I arch up to meet every deep stroke, my fingers digging into his broad shoulders as the heat between us builds, furious and demanding. No playful banter or teasing barbs now; I can only cling to him and let out small, helpless noises as he takes total control.

I’m embarrassingly close to coming already. His thigh presses between mine to open me wider, and he drives into me deep and steady, his hand coming up to cradle my cheek as I melt against him. The first coil of an orgasm tightens low in my stomach. I’m right on the edge. I’m about to⁠—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

A piercing, electronic shriek shatters the mood, loud and obnoxious, ringing off the old walls. A damn smoke detector.

Mateo freezes inside me, and we stare at each other.

"I have to check that," he says, looking pained about it.

"I mean, it's probably nothing, right?" I offer, realizing I am fully willing to risk a minor structure fire in pursuit of an orgasm.

He gives me a rueful grin and kisses my cheek, then slides out of me, to my enormous disappointment, and gets up. He yanks his jeans on without bothering with a shirt or shoes. I grab his oversized shirt from the floor, tossing it over my head, and scramble into the hallway after him with my hands clamped tightly over my ears. In fairness, the noise is deafening.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

"Ahhh, this is so loud!" I yell.