She moans again, and this time the sound shoots straight through me. My cock, already hard, starts to throb in time with the blood roaring in my ears. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to strip her naked, press her up against the nearest wall, and fuck her until we’re both senseless with pleasure.
But Ophelia’s not that kind of girl. From the moment she dumped that drink on me, I knew she was different. That she’d require more than my usual fuck-and-run. It’s why I walked away from her that first night. And why I made that stupid bet, so I’d have an excuse to see her again when every instinct I have is shouting at me to stay as far away from her as I can.
That’s not going to happen, though. Not tonight, when she tastes like peaches and vanilla and sweet, delicious cream.
Not tonight, when she’s offering herself so fucking sweetly.
And definitely not tonight, when she’s holding on to me like she’d fall if I wasn’t here to support her.
Tilting her head back even more, I delve deep. I sweep my tongue over the back of her teeth before licking along the roof of her mouth and sliding it against and over and under her own. She tastes so good, feels so good, that I could do this for hours even if it means suffering the worst case of blue balls in history.
But Ophelia has other ideas. Her hands slide down my chest to my stomach, and then she’s tugging at my shirt, breaking our kiss only long enough to pull the thing over my head. Then she’s flinging it across the room even as she leans into me, her mouth picking up exactly where we left off. Only this time her eyes are open and I can’t help staring into the verdant depths of them. Here, now, they’re forest green, like the needles of the pine trees that make up so much of the landscape around here. They’re dark and mysterious and sexy as hell, and I want to spend the night staring into them as I make love to her, watching their color change as I kiss and lick and touch her.
Because Ophelia has that kind of eyes. I’ve spent the last few hours noticing how they reflect whatever she’s feeling, a different shade of green for every emotion she’s experiencing.
When she’s angry, her eyes are a brilliant emerald. When she’s happy, they’re a softer moss color. When she’s aroused, they’re this sexy forest green.
I’m dying—dying—to know what color they’ll be when she comes.
With that thought in mind, I reluctantly relinquish my hold on her hair and move my hands to somewhere they can do more good. She’s still wearing her thick jacket, so I unzip it and tug it down her arms before tossing it onto the counter behind her. Then I pull her sweater off and do the same thing to it. She’s got one more layer on, a thick turtleneck that hugs her full breasts and shows off her wicked crazy figure to its best advantage.
I take a step back so I can get a better look, and I swear my mouth nearly waters at the sight of her. “You’re so goddamn beautiful,” I tell her, and though it’s not the fanciest compliment I’ve given a girl, it’s definitely the most sincere.
Except the smile fades from Ophelia’s face as easily as it came. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” I answer, hooking my finger around the neckline of her turtleneck and dragging it down so that I can kiss her graceful neck. “But there’s a million things I want to do, including tell you that you’re gorgeous.”
I brush a line of kisses down her neck to her collarbone, but the damn turtleneck keeps getting in the way, so it’s my turn to strip her shirt off and fling it away. She’s still wearing a bra, a lacy black thing that matches the turtleneck and looks sexy as hell against her pale skin. The light is really dim in here, but if I look closely, I can see the hard press of her nipples against the delicate swirls of lace.
I want to touch, need to touch, so I lean forward and trace a line with my tongue across her breasts, right where the bra ends and she begins. Ophelia shudders, her hands clutching at my hair as her lower body rubs itself against mine.
Shit. Fuck. Goddamnit. She’s working herself against my cock, and if I don’t stop her soon, I’m going to come before we ever really get started. I haven’t done that since I was thirteen and losing my virginity in the back of Becky Martin’s parents’ car, and I have no intention of letting it happen now, no matter how hot Ophelia gets me.
And she’s got me hot. So hot I can’t breathe without pain, just as I can’t imagine walking away from this—from her—until I’ve had my fill.
Putting my hands on her hips, I lift her up until she’s sitting on the counter, her beautiful breasts only inches from my mouth. I know I should take the time to strip her bra off, but I can’t wait. Not now, when her hard little nipples are tempting me to touch and taste and take.
Bending down, I press a hot, openmouthed kiss over her right nipple before pulling it—lace bra and all—into my mouth and starting to suck.
“Z.” She calls my name even as she arches her back, pressing her breast more fully against my mouth.
And that’s when I lose it completely. I shove her bra down, not even bothering to take it off as I pull her nipple back into my mouth and suck. She tastes sweet here, too, and I can’t get enough of her.
I bite softly, relishing the way her hands tighten in my hair as she whimpers my name. Her hips are moving wildly as she sits on the counter, and I know a touch from me will send her spinning right over the edge. I start to give it to her, to press the heel of my hand where she needs it most, but for the first time in my life I’m not in a rush for the prize.
Yes, I want to slip inside her. Yes, I want to feel her come around me. Yes, I want to lose myself in the sweet oblivion that comes only with sex. But at the same time, there’s so much I want to do to her, with her, that I’m not ready to jump to the money shot. Not yet, anyway.
So instead of rubbing her to orgasm, I pull back. Take a second to breathe, to calm down. As I do, I reach around behind her to unfasten her bra, then slide it slowly down her arms.
She moans a little, jerks against me, and I run my hands up and down her back, trying to soothe her frantic movements. It’s hard because there’s a part of me that wants nothing more than to fall on her sweetness and take and take and take.
“Z?” She raises her head, looks at me questioningly.
“Wrap your legs around my hips.” I press a soft kiss to her mouth when she complies, then slide my hands under her hips and carry her to the bed.
“I want to see you,” I say, reaching for the lamp next to the bed after I deposit her on the bed. The small light she switched on when we entered doesn’t provide nearly enough light to satisfy the need I have to explore every inch of her.
“No,” she says, her voice suddenly devoid of the huskiness I’d heard in it just moments before. She puts a hand over mine and stops me from turning on the lamp.
I freeze at the urgency in her voice, then turn back to face her. “What do you mean?
What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She unfastens her jeans, then pulls them down her legs. “Can’t we just do it like this?”
Red flags are popping up all over the place, but at the same time, Ophelia’s fingers have delved beneath the waistband of my boarding pants and she’s got my cock in her soft little hand. I know I need to think, know I’m missing something important here, but it’s damn hard to focus when she’s pumping me off.
“Ophelia. Wait.” It takes Herculean effort, but I put my hand over hers, try to get her to stop, just for a moment. Just so I can figure out what’s happening.
She wants no part of waiting, though. Instead, she yanks my pants and underwear down to my calves, then watches impatiently while I kick them off after my boots. I reach for her, try to pull her against me so I can kiss and stroke and touch all the places I’m dying to explore, but she slides right through my hands and onto her knees—right between my legs.