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A low rumble vibrated in his chest, right against her breasts, her nipples pebbling harder against his flesh as he devoured her mouth, his boxer-clad hips flexing against her bare form. The t-shirt - his t-shirt - the only garment she’d gone to bed in was suddenly pushed up under her neck. Her breasts, naked breasts, pressed up against his bare chest for the first time. Morana moaned at the sensation, her nipples becoming even more sensitive, shooting heat right to her core.
He pulled back, his chest heaving hard against hers, their breaths labored.
“Fuck,” he spoke, slight wonder, slight disbelief in his tone.
Yeah. She felt that ‘fuck’ too. This whole situation could be encapsulated in that one ‘fuck’.
A loud vibration from the bedside table spiked her already rapid heart rate. Morana looked to the source of the noise to see his phone vibrating madly on the wooden surface. She turned back to look at him in the glow from the phone, to see his wild, disheveled hair, and those magnificent eyes focused on her with an intensity that made heat flood her body all over again. She became acutely aware of his hard erection pressed right against her wetness, only a layer of cotton sep
arating them. Her hips rose of their own accord, creating slight friction that made pleasure shoot to the tips of her toes.
The phone kept vibrating as he moved his hips with deliberate intent, applying the perfect pressure. Her head sank into the pillow as her back arched, her fingers digging into his back.
The vibration stopped, plunging the room into darkness again.
His mouth came over hers again. She parted her lips willingly, letting him in, her heart pounding as he slowed them down, a wet spot on his cotton from her, his hand stroking the side of her breast.
The phone vibrated again. He pulled his lips away, his hand extending to the side to pick it up and bring it to his ear.
“Speak,” he growled into the phone, sitting back on his knees, the hand at the side of her breast going to her back, bringing her flush with him. Morana wrapped her legs around him, straddling his hips in the most wanton of ways, her entire body vibrating with her arousal.
“When?” he spoke against her neck, his teeth raking down the line, leaving her breathing harshly.
Then the person on the other end of the line said something that made him still in that way of his. Morana pulled back, trying to see him and he let her, laying her back down on the bed gently, his hand resting on her hip. Unable to stand not seeing him, Morana extended her arm and turned on the lamp beside her, flooding the room with a soft glow.
She saw his eyes roving over her entirely exposed body, taking in every inch of her skin and she did the same. He was muscles. His neck corded with them, his shoulders packed, his pecs, his abs, his arms. All wrapped in strength. Morana saw his scars up close and personal like this for the first time but she focused on his tattoos since she’d never had the chance before. She knew there was a small one under his bicep that she could only see the end tails of, a tribal design from the looks of it. How she'd love to spend time just exploring all his marks to her heart's content someday.
Before she could obverse the others, he grunted in response to something and his hand moved to right between her legs, where she was spread wide for him. Her eyes flew to his in surprise, locking with those blue ones piercing her to the core as he stayed on the phone, his fingers probing.
A harsh breath left her, the fire which had subsided roaring back to life under her skin, her fingers fisting the sheets under her.
“No, it won’t,” he said on the phone, slowly dipping a finger inside her wet heat, making her toes curl.
His eyes flickered to her breasts, went to her hands, and returned to hers. She got the message. Uncurling her fingers, she placed her hands over her breasts, holding his gaze, and squeezed. Her walls clenched around his finger. He was touching her both literally and not.
“Get it done.” Another finger joined. She tugged on her nipples, the pleasure shooting straight down making her spine curve, a soft moan leaving her lips.
His eyes flared.
“Nothing,” he stated, shaking his head at her just once even as his fingers sped up inside her, his thumb joining in to rub her clit. Sucking in a loud breath, knowing she had to keep it quiet without moving her hands from pleasuring her breasts or breaking eye contact with him, Morana bit her swollen lips, her jaw starting to tremble. He saw it, noted it, and attacked with an ardor she hadn’t thought possible when he was occupied elsewhere. But she shouldn’t have been surprised.
His fingers penetrated, scissored, massaged her walls, withdrew, and repeat. Heat started to unfurl in her belly, knotting into a ball that kept getting tighter and tighter and tighter. His eyes, his fingers, his presence wrecked on her. His thumb rubbed her deftly, pressing with the perfect pressure that was going to make her soar. She knew, just knew he would splinter her apart.
His fingers moved in and out of her, spearing in the same rhythm as his cock would have, her walls clinging on to the digits, weeping for relief. The pressure kept mounting with every second, the knot of fire in her stomach coiling tighter with every shuddering breath, the tremor in her body increasing with every beat of her heart.
“Do it,” he ordered, and the whiskey and sin of his voice exploded the flames.
Her eyes closed. Stars burst behind her lids. Head tilting back as her spine curved, her hands gripping her breasts for purchase as her toes curled, her legs shook, and she came on a silent breath. His thumb and fingers didn’t stop, extracting everything her body was capable of giving, setting off a series of after-shocks that jerked her body until a whimper escaped her lips, her flesh oversensitive.
Morana came down to earth, panting, recovering, opening her eyes slowly to see him watching her. He brought his glistening fingers to his mouth and licked them. Her tired walls clenched again.
“I’ll be there,” he stated and abruptly threw the phone down on the bed beside her, his eyes blazing on her, a prominent bulge under his cotton-covered hips.
Leaning forward with lithe grace his body shouldn’t have been capable of but was, he trapped her between his arms and hovered over her, the air charged in the space between their bodies.
“I’ve tasted you now, Ms. Vitalio,” he whispered, his gaze locked on hers. “You can’t escape me now.”
“You don’t scare me anymore, Mr. Caine,” she replied, her voice breathy.
