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26 - ADDISON
My hand moved up, and I laid it on his chest, tracing the contours before resting it over his heart. The organ was racing—matching mine. The staccato beat threatened to burst through his ribcage like it couldn’t bear the layers of clothing, skin, and tissue separating us from becoming one. I pressed my palm harder against his chest, not pushing him away but using him as leverage to get closer, needing the contact like I needed my next breath.
He responded immediately, wrapping me in the scent of crisp apples and peppermints. His thumb moved from my cheek to grip the back of my neck in silent encouragement or desperate want—I wasn’t sure which and I didn’t care. A moan of contentment and desire passed over my lips, and I parted them, allowing him to move forward and kiss me. Deeper. Harder. Longer. I trusted him to give me everything I needed. He deepened the kiss, tongue meeting mine and the moment ours. Ours—free of past fears and desperation.
Mine. I thought, struggling to get closer. Oh god, finally mine. I’d denied myself for too long. Denied myself the feel of his hands, his mouth, the taste of his skin. He was mine, entirely mine. My head-strong, arrogant, dangerously handsome, stubbornly redeemed man kissed me like I was the most essential thing in his life.
Our tongues clashed like red-hot volcanic magma, and my body lunged towards him, all traces of softness and gentle caressing gone as our lust turned into an all-out battle cry for control. But it was just for show, and Simon knew it as much as I did. I wanted to give it to him—wanted him to wrestle it away from me with thrusts of his tongue and rolls of his hips.
He overpowered me even as I hooked my fingers into the loops of his slacks, pulling him in closer and feeling the hard ridge of his cock pressing into my belly. I moaned into his mouth, unsure of what I was trying to say but he understood, grinding against me so I could feel what I did to him.
“Oh-oh, please,” I stuttered when his lips left mine to blaze a wet trail down my neck. He fisted the bottom of my sweater and pulled it over my head before grabbing the back of my neck again and pressing our foreheads together.
“Simon,” he growled, devastating me with the profound way it roared from his throat. “You’ll call me nothing but Simon tonight, honey.” His eyes gleamed with a wildness I’d never seen—a wildness that made me desperate.
He looked like he was barely hanging on, barely keeping control of himself as the savagely passionate side threatened to break free. “I want my name on your lips. Over and over and over. I want to make sure you know who is buried deep inside you. Whose tongue, fingers, and cock are filling you. Whose owning you, loving you tonight.”
Loving you. Loving you. Loving you.
Not loved.
Simon’s voice left no room for question. It was ragged and breathless as his gaze loomed over my body before he leaned forward and bit down on the tendon where my neck met my collarbone, sucking hard.
Fuck. That’s going to leave a mark.
“Look at me. I can’t be gentle, not tonight. Tell me you want this, want me before we go any further. Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered, pulling away from my neck long enough for me to answer.
Beneath the demands, the authority, I saw the uninhibited respect and love swirling through his gunmetal eyes, fringed with thick, blond lashes. He needed this—needed to show me everything that was still unspoken between us with his body. It took us being apart for me to understand one of Simon’s deep-seated core values was to be needed. To feel wanted. To express his feelings through deeds and actions.
It was why he constantly sought his father’s approval, putting it before his career, health, and happiness. I understood and could give him what he needed—what we both needed.
“I need this. Need you, Simon,” I said, fumbling one-handedly with his belt buckle and using my other hand to caress the strands on the nape of his neck. “Don’t go slow, and don’t hold back. Please show me how much you missed me. How hard it’s been being apart. Make me yours, please. I am yours.”
Finally working the buckle loose, I pulled it free, but Simon batted my hand away, tugging me further into the house and into the spare bedroom. It felt taboo, sneaking in here while the girls were upstairs sleeping, but we needed this. Our world made sense when our bodies aligned, and the physical expression of our love was just as important as saying the words to one another.
“Stay quiet, honey.” His breath tickled the shell of my ear as he unhooked my bra, letting it fall to the floor before pushing down my leggings. I struggled to shove them the rest of the way off with my feet while working the button and zipper of his slacks. He pressed his mouth to me in another heated kiss. His nimble fingers worked faster than mine to undo his cufflinks and the few stray buttons keeping us from skin to skin.
“I fucking need you, Simon,” I said, breaking away as the back of my knees hit the bed. I hopped up on the soft duvet, scooting back on my elbows until they hit the pillows. Tipping my knees open, I beckoned him closer with the crook of my finger and hooded eyes, hoping he’d see how wet I was. His earlier words had me sopping, but when he said he loved me, my panties were submerged, obliterated, and resting at the bottom of the river of lust. The lake of desire. The sea of snatch. A giggle burst from my lips, and I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep Simon from thinking it had anything to do with him.
Too late.
“Something amusing, honey?” he asked, grabbing my ankle and jerking me back to the edge of the bed. He leaned down and ran his tongue from my calf to my knee, raising one eyebrow and waiting for an answer.
I lifted my shoulders to my ears, knowing a blush crept up my neck but not letting it bother me. Sex wasn’t some neat, proper, silent thing with curtsies and bows. It was messy with weird noises and jiggling, grunting, groaning, spit, drool, and someone ending up on the wet spot. Anyone who said differently needed to roll around in a kiddie pool full of lube for an hour while participating in vigorous foreplay.
“Not you, baby. My pussy. I was thinking about I wet I am. How wet you make me—with your words, your touch. My poor panties are positively ruined in the ocean of…”
“Orgasms? Not yet,” he growled, pinning me with another feral stare that had my insides quivering with glee. “But get ready.” He dove for my pussy, barely giving me time to lift my hips in invitation before he buried his entire face between my legs, licking a long line up to my clit.
“Ohmygodfuckwow,” I hissed, closing my eyes as his warm tongue invaded me.
“No, honey,” he said, looking at me from between my legs. “You know what to say, and you know where to look. Keep those eyes on me. Regarde moi.”
He moved forward with agonizing slowness, sticking out his tongue to ensure I watched before lapping my clit again.
He circled it with the tip of his tongue before sucking—hard—making me fist the duvet with one hand and his hair with the other, worried for a second I’d rip those platinum strands out, until bolts of pleasure overtook my body, making me forget everything else.
I bucked my hips into his face, suffocating him with my pussy, but he only pushed my thighs further apart, stroking his tongue along my outer lips.
