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He presses his cheek atop my head. I wrap my arms around his neck.
“Since the burrow,” he says hoarsely.
He breathes deeply, and I kiss his throat as my heart hammers wildly.
“The first night back, I was afraid,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry I left you.”
A tremor moves through his shoulders. “Don’t be sorry.” He kisses my hair, hugs me closer. “You’re so fucking perfect, Siren. Sometimes it’s the only thing that gets me through.”
“I’m so sorry that you’re suffering.” I run my hands into his hair. I kiss his throat, and then his chin. I stroke his forehead with my fingertips. “My poor darling… Is it this way every day?”
He gives a little lift of his shoulders, shuts his eyes.
“You’re so strong. A lion,” I whisper. “You’re so good and kind. Relief will come.”
His fingers strum my back like a guitar, even as I feel him trembling.
“You’re so brave.” I lean back a bit to look into his eyes and find them closed. I kiss his cheek. “I won’t leave you alone again. I’ll stay here with you.”
His mouth covers mine, and together we groan.
Four
Finley
He kisses deep and hot and hard, as if he means to claim me. One hand fists my hair. The other cups my cheek as his tongue cravenly explores my mouth, its probing rhythm making my thighs press together as a warm weight drops low into my belly.
I’m spun ’round in the frenzy of his onslaught: his rough cheeks scratching mine, his mint-tinged breath in my nostrils, the way his lips are bruising mine and my mouth is opening for more, my jaw aching till we wrench apart to breathe in frenzied tugs.
Then he’s moving, shifting so he’s crouched above me. All I see are his eyes, asking questions that I try to answer with my own. He lowers his hips atop mine, and I can feel his thick erection.
“Siren—are you sure?”
I can’t answer for my tight throat, but I grab his shoulder, pulling him down on me. His head nuzzles my throat, and then he’s kissing me there. His hips rock against mine, his sex dragged over my softness until I cannot take it anymore.
I’m pulling his hair, groaning. “Please…”
“Please what?”
I wrap my arm around his hips, pressing my palm against his back, and lift my backside so my sex rubs his.
He groans, and then his mouth is moving over my throat. His kisses are so hard, I feel heady with a sort of fright which fuzzes into to velvet bliss and then near pain as his long, stiff sex rubs against me and my insides tremble in primal response.
I can’t stop myself from stroking every inch of his warm skin. I drag my nails along his sides, caress his shoulder blades. His muscles quiver and his breathing quickens. We reach a point where every time his sex catches on mine, we moan and thrust our hips. I hold his face between my palms. His eyes reach into mine.
You know what I want, Carnegie. Now give it to me…
His mouth finds mine—tender, slow, an answer. I can’t discern if it’s “yes” or “no,” and so I simply kiss him back and tell him that way: Yes, I want this. I want you.
I want you.
I want you.
We pant with our foreheads pressed together. Then we’re back in motion, nothing but our hungry mouths and grasping hands. He can’t hold out much longer—I can feel it in the tremor at his hips, can hear it in the way his breaths come from the throat.
He takes my pants down…then my panties. He’s there where I’m slick and ready, rubbing his round tip through my folds.
“Ohhhhh.”
