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If our kiss on Friday was blazing and raw, then this is something else. Something far more seductive, our mouths teasing, tasting; tongues gliding together in a sensual dance. I let out a breathy moan as his hands slide around my waist, already lost in the soft feel of his hair under my fingers and the solid weight of his body against mine, thrillingly familiar and all brand new at once.
I missed this.
God, I missed him.
I surface, breathing hard. “Oh,” I say uselessly, reeling.
“Aye…” Fraser echoes roughly, trailing kisses along my jawline. He nips my earlobe, breath hot in my ear.
I shudder, still clinging to him, and feel his cock harden against me.
“We should…” I start, and then stop, because the next words from my mouth aren’t fit for polite company.
“Stop?” Fraser ventures in answer, lifting his head and fixing me with a questioning stare.
“God no,” I blurt.
“Thank fuck,” he answers bluntly. Without another word, he takes my hand and leads me upstairs. OK, drags me. And I’m rushing just as fast, stampeding after him to keep up, until he slams the bedroom door behind us and pushes me up against it, claiming my mouth again as his body traps me there, hard and unyielding.
Fuck.Yes.
He kisses me so hard that it almost hurts—the bristle of his beard and the force of his mouth pressing against mine. Good. I kiss him back like a challenge, my hands roaming over his shoulders and chest, greedy to explore. I know him and I don’t; the new planes of muscle and old familiar sensitive spots melding in a tantalizing mix as I lick his neck, and made him shiver (old, classic), arch against his hard-on (just as perfect as ever) and discover a stomach of burly washboard abs (all new and oh my god).
“Christ, baby. Jolene…” Fraser groans as I tear his sweater over his head and set my mouth to kiss and lick his naked chest. Andthat, yes, that’s the only way I want to hear my name from now on, laced with desire and heat.
Half a curse, half a prayer.
Fraser suddenly grabs my wrists, pinning them over my head with one hand, kissing me deeply as the other one roams under my T-shirt, stroking and teasing at my breasts. I whimper against his mouth as he palms them, squeezing, plucking at my stiff, aching nipples and making me gasp for more.
“Take it off,” I manage, and Fraser obliges, yanking my shirt and bra over my head until I’m pinned there, half-naked against the wall, one of his thick thighs braced between my legs as he bends his head to feast on me.
God… I can’t help grinding against him as Fraser’s mouth drives me wild, lavishing me with hot, teasing kisses, and shiver-inducing nips. And when he closes his mouth around one nipple and sucks, hard…
My moan echoes, high-pitched with need.
“That’s right, baby, nice and loud.” Fraser groans, shoving his thigh harder between my legs, making me gasp at the gorgeous friction. “You wet for me yet?” His gaze drifts over my face, and a slow smirk spreads. “Yeah, I think you are. I think you’ve been wet since I touched you, down in the pub.”
“Smug bastard.”
I whimper again, straining against the grip still pinning me—and loving every minute of it. When did he get so confident, so filthy, so perfect? I don’t know, but God, it’s like everything that drove me wild ten years ago has been amped up and heightened—including my pleasure.
“Smug, butright.” Fraser plucks my jeans open, and slides a hand down my panties, between my legs. I try to stifle my moan, but I can’t hold it back, not when his fingers glide over my clit and press lightly, sending pleasure racing through my body.
“Fraser…”
“Fuck…” he curses in answer, eyes falling shut for a moment as his fingers explore my slick, aching core. “You’re soaked.”
I don’t have time to feel self-conscious, not when he’s already stroking harder, in a rhythm that makes me sob. I sway there, pinned in place, held up by his strong arms and bracing thigh and fuck, the perfect pressure of his fingers, rubbing my clit just right until I’m shaking, gasping, begging him in a breathless chant. “Please... Fraser.Please.”
He curls a finger inside me, then another, and fuck, the stretch is perfect, the angle, just right. He pumps, pressing his palm against my clit as the same time in an intoxicating grind, and it’s too good, I can’t hold back: I climax with a cry, my legs shaking as the pleasure crashes through me, Fraser swallowing the sound with a deep, fevered kiss.
God good, this man doesn’t skip a beat.
I’m still gasping in bliss when Fraser lifts me: Hoisting me over his shoulder, just like he did at Chatsworth, and tossing me down on the bed. I bounce, breathless, as he leans over me, stripping off the rest of my clothes, his eyes glittering with dark intent.
“Fuck, I’ve pictured you like this,” he mutters hoarsely, his gaze roaming over me. I flush, well aware that things aren’t quite as gravity-defying as they were ten years ago, but Fraser’s expression is so ravenous and reverent, my self-consciousness melts away.
He retrieves a condom from his wallet, and then strips off the rest of his clothes, too. He stands there by the bed, naked and proud, eyes locked on mine as he slowly rolls the condom onto his thick, straining dick.
