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“You didn’t mess it up before.” I took his hands and laid them over my breasts.
Heat flamed in his eyes, and he massaged the flesh. I relaxed as his work-worn hands roamed over my skin. And I had to admit that it was a giant turn-on to see my boobs spilling out the sides of his grip.
“Just like I thought. Perfect.” He dipped his head to close his mouth over a nipple.
I groaned and stretched out. That mouth on my boob? How could it feel so good? I stuffed my hands into his hair and enjoyed the sensation.
I arched into him, and he switched sides. I could do this for a while. My shirt was off. Daylight streamed through the thin window curtains. But he made me feel comfortable.
Until he began to draw my pants down.
I stiffened, but he lifted his gaze to mine. The promise in his dark eyes kept me from moving, from asking him if we could wait until dark.
My pajama pants and underwear slid down my hips. I lifted myself enough for Holden to tug them down to my thighs and the rest of the way off. Only then did his gaze leave mine.
The intensity around him grew as his gaze swept over the stretch marks that graced my hips and circled my bikini line. I kept my knees together, my breathing shallow. This was so much harder than having my shirt off.
I couldn’t breathe when he started kissing and tracing each stretch mark with his tongue. My ex-husband had given them nothing more than a clinical review. Beyond that, he ignored them. The year before I got pregnant with Riley, he said we could set aside money if I ever wanted a boob job. I’d never mentioned it.
Fuck him.
I dragged in a ragged breath as Holden worked toward the other side. My legs relaxed, and he moved between my thighs.
My legs framed his powerful shoulders and nothing—nothing—I’d done sexually up to this point matched the hotness of that view. I didn’t attract the attention of guys like Holden.
This was ridiculous.
But then he flicked his tongue over my clit, and I forgot everything. My world narrowed down to him and what he was doing to me.
The guy was a master. I’d never been the recipient of a partner who cared as much about my experience as his own.
He backed off but didn’t quit tonguing me. He propped one of my legs over his shoulder. I was exposed. All of me. And he devoured me like he couldn’t get enough. Then he increased the pressure and added a finger. Giving my body something to clamp onto while he drove me higher only sped up my trajectory.
My back bowed off the bed. I didn’t think he meant to get me off this fast, but that was what happened.
I fisted my hands in the bedspread. The sound of stitches ripping barely registered before I called out his name.
And called out his name again.
I collapsed on the bed, but I didn’t know how that was possible. I hadn’t left it.
He crawled up my body. “Jesus, Em. That was beautiful.”
I caught my breath while he kneeled and put the condom on. And he watched—he watched—as he entered me, filling me in a way that told me, as if I didn’t already know, that I’d been having the most vanilla sex ever.
I wasn’t talkingextreme voyeuristic, exploring fetishes, BDSM, swinging, or any other type of non-missionary positionintercourse. I was talking thewatered-down, both partners just kind of going through the motions, so inside the box that the box shrank and couldn’t hold anything significanttype of sex.
Because missionary with Holden was blowing all my past experiences out of the water. Just like back-seat sex had.
He had my legs spread, his big hands on my knees, and he was leisurely thrusting. His smug expression was all about where we were connected, as if watching himself stroke in and out of me was the pinnacle of satisfaction.
“You’re so fucking wet, Em.” He changed the angle and increased the force. Fireworks ignited inside my body, burning hotter until I thought I would explode with them. My breasts bounced, and I was about to try some sexy—I hoped—pose to cross my arms over them, but his hot gaze stuck on them. “I love your tits.”
“I love your body.” That sounded inane, but it was the truth. He was over me, in me, consuming me.
“I want to watch you come this time.”
I was lost in him, but his request brought me closer to the surface. The other times I came, my back was to him or his face was buried in my hair. I wanted to give this to him, no matter how nerve-racking the thought was. “But I already came.”
