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I want to etch myself, my name, onto her heart.
I've never been this man, thought these thoughts. This is new. I don't know how I feel about it as she lets out a cute little sound of surprise and—delight?
She lifts her head from my chest, her eyes finding mine. “You're awake.”
“Mmhmm,” I grunt.
“How long have you been awake?”
“A while,” I admit.
“Oh.” Her cheeks turn pink. “You should have woken me. I would have gotten off you.”
She starts to do just that, and my arm around her waist becomes a band of iron. Her eyes widen in surprise, and I think hope. But maybe I'm reading into things. Seeing things that aren't there.
Maybe my want for her is starting to cloud my vision.
“I'm in no hurry to get up,” I tell her. The bloom of pink in her cheeks deepens to a blossom of red. She's exquisite. She’s always stunning, but she's more so first thing in the morning when sleep and innocence clings to her. She's never been more arousing as she is when she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and releases it slowly, her teeth sliding across the flesh, marring it red.
Warmth spills into me from the heat in her whiskey eyes as she breathes, “Oh.”
I want to kiss her again. The way she says, ‘oh’ her full lips moving around the word, has the ache in my dick feeling even deeper, more insistent. But I don’t want to scare her away or move faster than she's ready to move.
I’m not the one that makes the call, though, because before I know it, she's pushing up over me and dropping her mouth to mine. Even first thing in the morning she tastes like heaven. Like I could sink into her and never come up for air again. Like I could drown in her, in her whiskey eyes, her warm vanilla scent. I give her a minute to control the kiss, teasing the hesitation from her lips before I palm the back of her head, shifting to lower her onto the couch beneath me.
I’ve wanted this woman beneath me more times than I can count in the last few days. Her legs part around my waist, and heat sweeps through my body, viciously, painfully. It's a sweet agony, a delicious torture. And a low growl rumbles from the deep of my throat in response.
I want more.
She arches her back, the white light of the moon and stars in the last moments of the clear night paint her skin silver. She looks like a goddess, a temptress sent to seduce me—to ruin me. And I couldn't be more willing.
Her breath hitches as my tongue touches her throat, sliding to that place beneath her ear.
“Nick,” she breathes my name. It's a rattled plea that I want to do nothing but satisfy—bow down to. She owns me, and she has no idea that I'm hers to do with as she wishes.
She's caught me in her snare, and I have no desire to break free. Her hands are around my back, her nails biting into my shoulder through my shirt. It's the first time since the accident that I've wanted to take it off with a woman. I want to feel her hands on me. Her nails in my skin. Her touch over my scars.
I'm not ashamed with her. I feel like a man with her, not half a man. I taste no pity in her kiss. I detect no sympathy in her moans. When she drops her head, arching her neck, her chest pushing up into mine, I know she's genuine. Everything about her is genuine, and again, I find myself thinking that I want to bind her to me—brand her to me—possess her in every way.
I settle for making her come undone beneath me. She's still in her leggings and the little sweater from the night before. I don't hesitate as I move my hand beneath the material of her shirt up to her bra. I pull the lobe of her ear between my teeth, gently biting as my hand tugs the cup of her bra down, exposing her breast to my touch. She gasps into the silence as I roll her nipple between my thumb and finger, her body quivering and quaking beneath mine.
She's so incredibly responsive, so incredibly beautiful,so incredibly tempting.
I could look at her forever under a silver Christmas moon. The image of her brands itself behind my eyelids, and I'm not so far gone under her spell to realize that I'm the one who wants to brand her, and yet she is branding me.
I'm not so far gone to realize that I'm fucked.
“Nick,” she breathes again.
Oh, yeah. I'm fucked.
“Oh my God, Nick.” She's moving her hips against mine, grinding into me and I groan. The sound is a deep, agonized rumble that I bury in her throat.
I have no doubt if she keeps doing that I'm going to come in my pants. She feels so good. Even with the material between us. I feel like a kid again. Like I’m stealing a moment of passion on the couch in a basement. The only thing missing is a fear that we're going to get caught.
“Oh my God,” she cries again as I palm her breast, squeezing.
She's clinging to me, desperate for more. I want to give her what she needs, releasing her breast to move my hand between her legs, under her pants into her panties. She doesn't stop me, and I don't hesitate as I slide two fingers deep. Her body jolts, her head coming up, her face pressing into my neck as her nails bite into my back through my sweater. She's so tight and so wet, so incredibly hot around my fingers. I pump my fingers into her, my thumb moving against her clit expertly.
