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I slipped my hand down the back of those shorts, pushing them down over her ass. She shifted like she was going to stand, and I kept my hand on the small of her back. Keeping her there, where I wanted her. The pink of that sweet skin between her legs, the cloud of pale hair. All of it. Exactly what I wanted.
“Stay,” I whispered. “Stay right there.” And I got back down on my knees behind her, pushed her legs out wide, and I licked her. and she jumped and squeaked and got so wet it began to drip down onto the skin of her thigh.
“Sam,” she moaned.
“Yeah.”
“Sam…I need…”
“What? Tell me.”
“Here.” She grabbed my hand, pressing my fingers down hard on her clit, and she was shaking. “Please.”
I worked her hard, my tongue, my fingers. She came, screaming, and still I worked her. Wanting her boneless and limp. My fingers were slick and I pushed one inside her and she climbed the island, holding onto the far side for leverage as she fucked herself against my fingers and my face and loved it. I loved it all. I loved her abandon and her rawness. I loved how she came like she lived. All in. Dirty and sweet and all fucking in.
She was limp against the kitchen island, her thighs slick. The pink skin of her pussy twitching and damp. I licked her as I got to my feet, my knees creaking. My legs loose. I reached between my legs, my cock hard and dripping into my coveralls. I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to count the days, weeks, months it had been since I’d managed to hold an erection and come.
The head wound. PTSD. The meds I was on…getting a hard-on was rare. Keeping it and coming was…not happening much any more. Except…Jesus…Sophie.
I wanted to come on her ass. Her tits. The small of her back. And I wanted to do it for the rest of my life. I stepped back again. Giving her room. Some distance.
“You okay?” I asked.
She stepped out of her shorts, wearing those pretty red socks and her favorite green Kane Co. sweatshirt. Her thighs were strong and lean. Freckled. I hadn’t known that.
“Is this the part where you leave?” she asked, panting and flushed.
“Do you want me to?”
“I want you to stop asking me questions when I ask you one,” she snapped. Her cheeks pink. Flushed with sex and now anger. “Is this the part where you say something mean and leave?”
“I don’t—”
“Is this where you make me feel used and cheap and—”
“Sophie. No.”
“—stupid for letting you fuck me with your face?”
Oh. She wouldn’t like it if I laughed at her. Even my smile was too much and she narrowed her eyes at me.
“Get out.”
“Fuck you with my face?”
“What else would you call it? And get out!”
Yeah. I wasn’t leaving. Not when she was wearing those socks and her hair was such madness around her head.
“I never meant for you to feel stupid.”
“You told me you didn’t want this.” She waved her hands around her body.
“No.” I stepped forward. My shirt was wet. The coveralls a furnace around my legs. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Well, it’s what you said, and you don’t get to change your mind just because you suddenly want to get fucked.”
“You think I want to get fucked?” I asked, stepping closer to her.
“I think you’re dreaming if you think you’re going to fuck me.”
I put my hand on her chest. Spread my fingers out wide and her pupils dilated. Her breath came fast. I could feel the pound of her heart through her clothes and my skin. The truth was on my lips—that this might all be big talk. That this might all be nothing. That I could be about to embarrass myself.
But I wanted this. I wanted her. I wanted to fucking try.
And because I’d been studying her. Because no one knew her like I did.
I put my hand around her throat. Holding her. Not hard. But…enough.
She started breathing harder. So did I.
“I didn’t want to fuck you in the warehouse,” I said. “I didn’t want to fuck you when some other guy had been touching you and I didn’t know if it was him you wanted or—”
“You,” she breathed. “You stupid asshole. I lo—”
I kissed her. I kissed her to shut her up. I kissed her to keep her from saying something we couldn’t walk away from. Something she might regret when this day was over. Something she might regret, depending on how the next ten minutes went.
She threw her arms around my neck and hopped, lifting her legs around my waist, climbing me like a monkey, and I walked her back over to the island, sliding her ass onto it. Pushing my cock, still hard, against her. The harsh fabric of my coveralls was too damn rough against her skin, but I wasn’t going to stop long enough to take off my clothes when hers were a much bigger problem. I stripped off that sweatshirt, revealing a thin white camisole made of silk with a pretty lace edge. God, she killed me. It was so pretty. So feminine and sweet, and no one who saw her would ever call her that.
