Time slows as I tug the straps over her arms, and her double-layer, satiny top slips down to her waist, baring her upper body to me.
Holy fuck. I thought she’d be wearing one of those strapless bras underneath… Nope. No bra. And goddammit, she’s fucking beautiful. More beautiful than I imagined her to be, and that’s after jacking off to the image of her. But her tits, man… Round and larger than I thought they’d be, crowned with rosy nipples that are hardening as I watch, rising to peaks.
“Jesus, girl,” I whisper, my pulse pounding until I think my heart will break out of my chest. “You trying to kill me or something?”
“You’re the one who wanted to take it off,” she murmurs, and damn, her voice, low and silky, wraps around my raging hard-on like a ribbon, pulling and tightening.
“I was. I am. I mean, I want it.” Hell. I need to grab my drawing pad and pencil, but as she draws a long breath, her tits rise and fall, and I can’t… Fuck, I don’t know if I can keep away.
I don’t think I can.
I thought I could. Guess I was wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time in my life.
“JJ.” Something dark flares in her eyes.
She wants this. Wants me, and the knowledge slams into me so hard I think I’m gonna come just from that. Don’t know why the fact this specific girl wants me gets me so turned on. But oh man, it does.
The trick is not stopping to question why she’d want someone like me, if she has realized what I am and what I’ve been. Question what she really wants from me. ’Cuz that’s shifty ground. Quicksand.
I bend over her. I run my mouth over the juncture between her shoulder and neck, where her pulse jumps, and she moans, her nipples hard against my chest as she shifts on the mattress.
I’m panting, seconds away from pushing her on her back and slamming into her. Or going down on her. Or sucking on her tits until she comes from that. Whatever she prefers.
“What do you want?” she asks again, more softly, and this time I give in.
“I want you,” I say and lay her down.
Chapter Thirteen
Amber
Wow, I think as my back hits the mattress and Jesse Lee leans over me, hands planted firmly on either side of my head, his wide mouth crooked in a half smile. I don’t know when I stopped trying to resist him and gave myself up.
He screws girls for fun, Amber. What are you doing? Are you out of your mind?
Maybe. Probably. Hell yes. But I want him too much. Could be if I sleep with him I’ll get over him. God knows the handful of times I’ve been with a guy in the past had me running for the hills. No reason why it should be any different now.
Although I don’t want to run. Not from him. He’s fun and kind and fascinating and oh God, so gorgeous.
Holy crap, Amber.
I should hold out, I should keep away from him—only I can’t. Not when he’s so close I can smell his cinnamon scent blending with the musk of his arousal, when I feel his erection pressed on my thigh like a hot iron rod and those remarkable jade-blue eyes lock briefly with mine before drifting lower, checking out every exposed inch of me—from my mouth, to my neck and my aching breasts, the tips painfully hard as I throb deep inside. Needing him to touch me.
Hard muscles flex in his arms as he lowers himself on one elbow, freeing his other hand to stroke down my arm and brush over my ribs. It tickles, and then he strokes his hand under my breast, cupping it, and I forget how to breathe. It fits perfectly in his large palm, and I watch as if from a distance his thumb circle my nipple, drawing it into a hard, tight peak. Pleasure streaks through me, a lightning bolt of heat straight to my core, and I arch on the bed.
“Jesus, Embers, you’re hot,” he breathes, his finger torturing my nipple, sending bolt after bolt of need through me. “Look what you’ve been hiding under those pretty flouncy tops. You shouldn’t hide. You’re so damn sexy.”
His words make me shiver, and when he switches to my other breast, I think I’m going to self-combust with arousal. I shift on the bed, needing something, anything to relieve the ache between my legs.
“I want…” You. I want to see him naked, run my hands over his inked chest and arms, see his hard-rock erection that’s digging into my thigh as he shifts. See him writhe in pleasure, see him lose control and admit… admit it’s because of me.
Yeah, as if I’m something special to him. I’m probably just another notch on his bedpost.
Too much thinking, and his hand has stilled, covering my breast, a warm weight.
“You with me, Embers?” he rasps, the blue-green of his eyes swallowed by black. It’s a hungry look, and no matter how I try to bring myself back down to earth, I’m sucked into another eddy of desire.
“And you?” I quiver under his touch, as his rough palm lightly scrapes on my aching nipple and then moves down to my stomach.
“I’m right here.” He bends his head closer, as his fingers tiptoe past my bellybutton to the hem of my pants and dip underneath, right into my panties. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
Then he covers my mouth with his, swallowing my startled moan as his fingers part my folds and dip inside me, bold and demanding, searching. Filling me up, stretching and edging me on until I gather up my knees to lift my hips, take his fingers deeper.
And all the while, he’s kissing me, thrusting his tongue inside my mouth, mimicking the movement of his fingers, and it feels so good. So incredibly good that I’m hovering on that fine edge between too much and right there, the pressure cresting until I cry out in his mouth, my hips rocking, and fireworks go off behind my eyes.
Oh God, never felt anything like it. My few encounters never prepared me for this. His fingers keep pumping and the spasms in my core are so intense they hurt at first, then the pleasure skyrockets and I cry out again, helpless under his touch.
He breaks the kiss, panting softly, gazing at me with a bemused and slightly wide-eyed expression on his face.
Did I just come twice from his fingers inside me? Jesus and crap on a cracker. My body is still shaking, trying to come to terms with what happened. Could it be because I want him so much, because of the pressure building inside me day after day?
Rationalizing isn’t helping, especially when he slowly withdraws his fingers, brings them up, and smells them. It’s my turn to stare at him, at the dark ripple of need in his gaze. His hard-on is pressing against me, urgent and hot, and that sexy, lazy grin curls up one corner of his mouth.
“Did’ya like that, kitten?” he rumbles. “I wonder what else you might like…”
“Kitten?” My voice comes out kinda squeaky, and I wince. Very sexy.
“You make these soft mewling noises.” He wipes a finger over his lower lip, licks it. “Sweet.”
Oh God, he didn’t just… He did.
Jesus, I’m getting hot and aroused all over again, and I have no clue what to say. I’ve never been with a guy who seems to know exactly what he’s doing to me, how much I enjoy it, and yeah… and who seems to enjoy it, too.
“Tell me,” he says, although the wicked gleam in his eyes informs me he doesn’t need such enlightenment. “Tell me what you’d like.”
Problem is, I don’t know. What he did was awesome, mind-blowing, but my experience is restricted to frantic fumbling in the dark, struggling with condoms, and quick, unpleasurable penetrations. I always thought that’s how it was supposed to be. That my own hand is the only way to come off.
So I say the only thing that has been on my mind since he started kissing and touching me.
“Take your T-shirt off.”
He pulls back, his grin frozen, his gaze hardening. “Why?”