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I’m tumbling into the pit of desire between us. His muscled chest is a solid wall at my back, and even in my dream, he smells delicious. I push back into him and he makes a surprised sound. Wait, is he awake? Oh shit. I freeze. My eyes open. Not a dream. Very much reality. A reality in which Jonah’s heart thuds against my back, and his arm is wrapped around my stomach. But just like the dream, I’m wet and aching between my legs, and he’s hard against me.
His mouth is at my ear. His teeth close over the lobe and the pinch has my breath stuttering in my chest. “Well, don’t stop now,” he growls. “It was just getting good.” His lips move over my throat, and I release a shaky sigh.
“We shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” His voice is a rumble at my back.
I’m having a hard time remembering why this is a bad idea, especially with the way he’s tugging me back into his body. His hardness cradles my softness, his thick erection providing delicious friction.
“Because last time, you said it was a mistake.”
He stills, and then surges over me, one leg between my own, his eyes intent on mine. “I take it back.” He brushes his lips over mine. “I take it all back. Please, Callie. Trust me again.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“I said I would make you beg, but I take it back. I’ll beg you. I’ll get on my knees. I need you,” he says. Another kiss, my lips parting to let his tongue delve into my mouth. “Please. Say yes.” He bites at my bottom lip.
If I do this, I’m going to fall for him. This is bad. But I can’t stop. “Yes,” I whisper.
“Thank fuck.” And then his mouth is on mine again, this time, hard, demanding. He coaxes my lips apart and when I touch my tongue to his, a ragged groan dredges up from his chest. We’re a tangle of tongues and teeth and grasping hands.
I’m pushing his T-shirt up with my hands. I need to touch him. I didn’t get to touch him before, and it’s been all I could think about for weeks. The skin of his stomach is hot and smooth under my fingers. Muscles roll under his skin as his hips press into me. I gasp into his mouth and he chuckles. He’s hard where I’m soft, confident when I’m not, and I need more.
“Slow down,” he whispers. He pulls back to look me in the eye, smiling like he’s not trembling with need. Like we have all the time in the world to explore each other. I arch up toward him in frustration. I’m crazed for him. The weeks of waiting broke something inside me, because I can’t stop touching and seeking.
“I can’t slow down,” I groan out.
“I’ll make you.” His eyes are laughing at me.
“How can you say that? This is all I’ve thought about for weeks.” I circle my hips again, craving the feel of him.
“Oh, me too.” His mouth hitches up at the side. He skims seeking fingers down my arms, then over my hips. He leans down to bite gently at my nipple through the thin material of the borrowed shirt and holy shit. My body jerks like I’ve been electrified. He laughs softly.
“The last few weeks have been torture. All the more reason to take it slow.” He captures my lips with his, and I try to urge him on with my teeth and my tongue, but he’s undeterred. His kisses are deep and drugging, pulling me under, until I’m sighing and squirming under him.
He nuzzles down the side of my neck, almost tender, and my heart lurches. I didn’t expect this. I thought we’d tear at each other’s clothes, that he’d take me from behind. Instead, he’s savoring me. His teeth grasp my other nipple and I cry out. The damp cotton on the tight peak creates delicious friction. It’s almost too much.
“Jonah,” I plead, tugging at his shirt.
He rises up to pull it off, and I suck in air. I got a small glimpse before, but now, the chest I’ve wanted to touch is right there. I trace over his abs with one finger, making him shudder and sigh. That vee of muscle at his groin feels just as good under my palm as I imagined. He sucks in wind like he’s dying, but lets me explore him.
“This is your one chance,” he says. “Then you’re mine.”
I shiver. “What does that mean?” I trace the ridge of his cock through his briefs. He bows his head, neck tense, tendons straining. His body is pure grace—thick muscle, lean limbs.
“Pleasure dom,” he grits out. “It’s called a pleasure dom.”
“I’ve never heard of that.” I’m stroking him through his shorts. He’s on a short leash. I can practically see him trembling with anticipation, restraining himself.
“It means I want to give you pleasure. More than want. Crave it. I won’t finish if you don’t. As many times as possible.”
Holy shit.
“Okay?” He asks, his voice gravel.
“Okay.”
He smiles and helps me slip my shirt off, then my shorts, and then I’m under him, nearly naked, while he kneels between my legs. The crispness of his hairs create delicious contrast to the sensitive skin on my inner thighs. I want to rub myself against him. I want to feel him everywhere.
