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“Interesting thought. But this beautiful tattoo … you can’t even see it.”
“I don’t need to see God to know He’s there — that He protects me and takes care of me. I want others to see it, though.”
I lean forward and place a soft kiss on the space I think would be the lion’s nose. Connor’s body flexes and he turns to lie flat on his back. I readjust myself and curl up beside him, nestling my head into his shoulder — my perfect pillow.
My fingers continue to slide over his skin. I softly skim his neck and then twirl them into the hollow of his throat. Drifting down over his chest, I rub softly in large figure eights for several long minutes. My short nails finally scrape lightly over the ripples in his abdomen and he lets out a light moan. I snatch my hand away, but he captures my wrist in his fingertips. I can feel the place he squeezed so hard before. It feels bruised and sore. I pray there’s no mark there. Connor would never forgive himself.
“No. Please, don’t stop. Keep going. Your touch is … it’s comforting.”
“How?” I lay my palm flat on his stomach and rest it there, lightly curling my fingers and then stretching them again. I can feel his muscles harden and then relax.
“Your touch is so … I can’t describe it. It’s so soft, so easy.”
“Women are usually rough with you?”
“Sometimes. They take one look at the long-haired, tattooed guy and just assume I’m a total monster in the sack. They claw and squeeze. It’s always so hard.”
It hurts somewhere deep down to hear him talk about other women he’s been with. I try to listen to him now with the same patience and understanding that he showed when I tried to explain about my brief relationship with Jemmy.
My hand skates lower and I half sit up in the bed and look down at him. His hand finds my face in the dark and brushes a curtain of my hair behind my ear. I lean forward and kiss his chest softly. His skin is so warm, and pulled so tight over rounded sinew. He gives me an encouraging little groan and I wiggle lower against his body until my mouth is over his navel. I swirl my tongue over it, tasting the light scent of the body wash he uses. It’s a spicy mix of leather and some sort of herb that smells like rosemary or mint.
I can feel the thickness of him lower, his eager staff twitching and waiting for his turn for kisses. I tug off Connor’s shorts and let my lips fall on him softly, slowly, and pull as much of his hard length into my mouth as I can. Connor lets out a loud sigh and I’m undone with the need to comfort and adore this man.
I continue to minister to him with my lips, my tongue, my fingers. I massage and kiss and suckle and stroke. Connor’s hands grasp for me, eager to touch me to find some piece of me he can hold onto while his body strains to keep control. I can feel the tension working through his blood under my tongue. His fingers finally encircle my head.
“You don’t have to do this, Raven,” Connor’s torso flexes and he lifts up to his elbows. I know he wants to catch a glimpse of me here, my lips encircling his groin and lapping at his generous length. I’m thankful it’s too dark to see much. He hisses through his teeth. I spend time just loving him. His body is incredible. Long, hard, thick and … perfect.
The moans and growls I’m pulling from him make me feel sexier than I’ve ever felt in my life. The notion that a girl like me could make a man like Connor so hot is almost too much to believe. No man has ever made me feel like this. Powerful. Desired. Alluring. I am lost in the act.
“Raven, I’m so close. God, I wanna come so bad right now,” Connor groans.
I stop before he does. I’m not sure my courage extends far enough to do what I am certain he wants. I kiss my way back up his body and our lips find one another. They clash in a mad tangle of tongue and teeth. My blood simmers under the surface. I’ll admit that having him in my mouth turns me on. Big time. It never did with Jemmy. It was an obligation — sort of a requisite a couple of times a month, but with Connor, it’s completely different. I give to him. He doesn’t take.
“I need to touch you,” he gasps. His hands clumsily fumble over my collarbone and shoulders.
“Yes,” I breathe quietly as he tugs off my nightshirt and cups my breasts in his hands.
“Christ, I want to bury myself inside you so bad, woman. You have no idea.” His lips move to descend to my breasts and I lurch back. I push gently against his shoulders, pulling his lips away from my body.
“Connor, stop. Please.” I murmur.
His hands instantly freeze and shoot up as if he has been caught by the police. He’s practically panting, but he stops. The minute I ask. The first time. I half expected to have to plead with him, like I did with Jemmy, but he just stops. My heart floods with an emotion I can’t describe. Respect? Gratitude? Appreciation? Perhaps a combination of too many expressions to single anyone out as stronger than the next, but they’re all there swirling together, willing me to tell him to stop and at the same time urging me to continue.
“Connor, I won’t be a tease,” I say. My hands tap around on the bed in search of my shirt.
“You aren’t teasing me,” he says quickly. “Well, you are, but I love it. I know where the line is. I won’t cross it. I’m sorry I said what I did. I just got caught up in it all. Do you really want to stop?”
“You mean, you’re all right if we just fool around and don’t actually have sex?” The idea is as foreign to me as a sleepover with no sex. Jemmy convinced me foreplay was for high school. Sex was for adults. I don’t want Connor thinking I’m just some juvenile cock tease set on driving him crazy and then denying him the big finish I know he craves. Despite the fact I crave it, too, I don’t think I’m ready to face my fears.
“Are you kidding? This is the most turned-on I’ve ever been in my life, and I think it’s because I know I get to do everythingbuthave sex with you. I don’t want to stop, but I will.”
My hand lands on his thigh. His fingers move to cover mine and then I lift our hands back onto my breast again. The pad of his thumb brushes over my nipple and I can feel it twist into a hard pebble under his touch. I do want him, but the fear of the pain of his intrusion stops me from saying anything else.
“Lainey, let me kiss you.” His other hand slides between the junction of my thighs. I know what he’s asking with that commanding tone in his voice. I nod, unable to speak. I want it. I do. I want it so badly.
“Please,” I rasp.
He orders me to lie back. I surrender to him. His body covers mine and I feel the weight of his massive bulk bearing down on top of me, pushing me deep into the soft mattress.
