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Into him.
Their noses bumped and their lips mashed together before he took a quick breath and aligned them correctly. He molded his mouth against hers while he caressed her belly, learning her curves as he slipped his tongue along her seam. She opened for him, inviting him inside, and he hesitated long enough to speak against her flesh.
“What I regret most is not remembering this part. That moment before I entered you. Tongue, fingers, cock.” He opened his eyes and stared into hers, so deep and dark. “Kissing you nearly killed me. Imagining I missed out on recalling this…” Easing his hand between her legs, he squeezed, eliciting her gasp. “Next time, I’m going to fucking take notes.”
“You need a notepad? Maybe a pen?” Her teasing questions between their quick, hot kisses made him even more mental.
“Oh, Red, I have a canvas right here.” He scraped his callused thumb under the waistband of her jeans and she whimpered. “And I can paint you too.”
“You’re a talented man.”
“You have no idea. Maybe you need a reminder too.” He moved back and crooked his finger, inviting her on his lap. “Get on me.”
“Work,” she said halfheartedly.
“So make it fast.”
She rose and straddled him, sinking down on his lap while her fingers dug into his shoulders. He reached up to free her hair and she shook it out, smiling down at him in a way that stole his breath.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen that smile before.” He touched the side of her mouth. “Dimples?”
“Dimples and freckles,” she said with a sigh, and he winged up a brow.
“You forgot the outie belly button and the cute, adorable feet.”
She pulled her shirt over her head, so quickly he couldn’t prepare. “But all the freckles,” she said, her voice fading out.
She wasn’t lying. They were sprinkled all over her pale skin, layered on top of each other in some spots. He wanted to investigate them all.
Instead, he grabbed the straps of her bra and yanked them down her arms, trapping them at her sides while he lowered his head to suck on her nipple.
“Michael,” she breathed. “Don’t—” He paused, looking up as her head fell forward so that her glorious curtains of flame-red hair surrounded them. “Don’t stop.”
“Never.” He nibbled the tip of her breast, absorbing her sounds of excitement like air. He coasted his hand down her torso to open her jeans. Underneath she wore mom underwear. White cotton, nothing arousing at all. Yet he couldn’t nudge the fabric aside fast enough. “On my fingers,” he said and she nodded, as if she wanted the same thing.
There was no teasing, no hesitation. He stroked her scant curls, swallowing over the dryness in his throat at how soaked they were. All for him.
No alcohol for either of them, no energy from a show, no dancing or club atmosphere. Just a saggy couch and granny panties and a baby sleeping upstairs.
Nothing had every been hotter.
He separated her swollen lips with his index finger and rubbed her clit until she dropped her head back, baring her long freckled throat. Nibbling his way down her skin, he slid farther inside her, entering her in a slow glide that made them moan in unison. One finger soon wasn’t enough, so he used two. He pushed them deeper, gauging what she could take. What would make those rosy lips fall open on a groan.
“Gotta come quick, so help me get you there.” He grazed her throat with his teeth. “Shit, I want to lay down and pull you over my mouth.”
Her arms were still caught close to her sides because of her bra straps so she flexed her fingers, balling them into fists. As much as he liked her being bound for his mercy, he liked even more having her hands on him. He reached back to undo her bra, allowing her to loosen the straps and drive her hands into his hair. Holding his head against her breasts, she rode his fingers, undulating with every one of his thrusts. A flick of his thumb over her clit and she pulsed around him. One, twice, before shattering and soaking his hand.
Rocking his hand deeper, he kept going, ignoring her whimpers. “Sensitive?” He bypassed her clit and just pumped in and out, nice and slow, while he sucked on her nipple. She started tensing up and her nails pressed into the back of his neck. “Don’t fight it.”
“I can’t…no multiples for me.”
He smiled against her breast. “Before.”
“Michael—”
“If you keep saying my name, I’m going to keep you on your back on this couch until you scream it.”
She pressed her lips together and he chuckled against her breast, slowing his strokes. Giving her a chance to gather again, to find the rhythm he was coaxing her into one more time. Going faster and faster while she sought more of what he was offering. Bearing down, she tightened up on him. So damn tight. Her walls convulsed around his fingers as she finally found her release with his name lingering on her lips like a chant. A prayer.
