Love in Lingerie(53)

“Ignore that,” I mumble. “It was stupid.” I need to recover. I need to open my eyes, and make a dirty remark, and give her that smirk—the one that gets me out of trouble and covers mistakes. I need to do all of it, but can’t muster up a smile, can’t come back to life after drowning.

“Don’t say that.”

“It was.”

“I want to marry you.”

I take a risk and look up at her, the fire’s light playing across her features, and there is a but coming, I can feel it pushing off her tongue. “But,” she says, and then her eyes drop, her fingers running over my bottom lip. I open my mouth and gently bite down on her thumb. Her eyes flick back to mine. “But, I’m worried about the orgy stuff.”

It is so unexpected, that I can’t help but smile. She scowls in response, and I know suddenly that we will be fine, that we are Kate and Trey, and even if we don’t marry, there is nothing that can come between us. “It’s not funny,” she says, pushing on my chest.

“The orgy stuff?” I repeat, and I try to contain my smile, to take seriously whatever is about to come out of her delicious mouth.

“Yes, Trey. The orgy stuff.” She huffs out a breath, sitting upright.

I can’t stop the laugh that comes at her petulant expression. “I don’t do orgies, Kate.” I quickly amend the words. “I haven’t done orgies. I was only the third for couples. That’s it.”

“Okay, sorry. The threesome stuff.” She rolls her eyes. “Is that better?”

“Yes.” I slide my hands up her bare thighs, and I like this position, having her astride me, her pussy bare on my stomach, wet from my come, her hair falling over her breasts, her face flushed from our sex and her current indignation over my pain-in-the-ass past. “What worries you about it?”

“I’m just worried that you’ll want me to do that. And it’s not that I’m a prude or anything—”

I pop my hips enough that she bounces up, and she stops talking, caught off balance, her hand reaching out to stabilize herself as she comes back down to my stomach, my hand taking advantage of the moment to slip underneath her. I slide two fingers inside, curving them up and toward me, and her objection dies as she melts forward. “Trey,” she protests, and it is a weak slur of my name, my fingers gently sweeping over her g-spot, and she is so warm, so tight, so wet inside. I wonder how much of it is my come, and how much is her, and how, if I press right there … she curses and digs her fingers into my chest.

“Jesus, Trey. Don’t stop.”

“Look at me, Kate.”

My confidence rises when she tries to lift her eyes to mine. They are heavy, her eyes hooded and glazed, and thank God I am only now discovering this—how responsive she is to just the crook of my finger. If I’d known this early on, I’d have solved every business discussion this way. I’d have insisted that she only wear skirts to work. I would have installed a wall of mirrors in my office and have her face them, have her watch her face as I fingered her, have her see exactly how motherfucking sexy she looks like this. I sweep my thumb over her clit and use my fingers in short thrusts, making sure to brush over that spot, her mouth falling open, short pants leaving it, her hips beginning to rock over me.

“I will never want to share you with anyone.” I promise her, my eyes on her face, a jolt of pleasure coming through me as she squeezes her eyes shut, a low moan leaving her. I slow my motions. “Tell me you understand.”

“Don’t stop,” she begs, her hand clawing at my chest. “I understand.”

“I will never want another woman. Ever.” I resume the manipulation of my fingers and she tightens, the walls of her flexing around my fingers, her g-spot swelling. “There is not another woman who can ever compare to you.” She stiffens, her head dropping back, her neck exposed, and it takes all of my control to stay in place, to keep my fingers’ cadence. I use my other hand and run my palm over her bare breasts, vowing to spend all day tomorrow focused on them, dedicated to my worship of their perfect flesh. Her nipples tighten under my caress, and I bite my lips, the desire to suck them into my mouth almost impossible to resist.

I don’t know how to convince her, how to tell her that what we just shared was a hundred times better than any sexual experience I’ve ever had. I don’t know how to explain that just the sound of her voice awakens my cock more than a hundred threesomes ever could. I don’t know how to tell her that the thought of sharing her twists my gut in the most painful way.

“Do you understand?” I stop her orgasm in the breath before it comes, my fingers wilting, my voice strong enough to cause her eyes to flip open, and she grounds her hips on top of my hand, shamelessly trying to maintain my rhythm.

“Yes,” she gasps. “I understand.”

“Tell me you’ll marry me,” I order. “No buts.”

She purses her lips and the hint of a dimple appears in her cheek. “You’re trying to negotiate marriage over an orgasm?”

I push both fingers into her, cupping them, and watch the blur of her focus. “Yes, Kate. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

She gasps, and her hips lift off me as I increase the speed and depths of my movements, finger-fucking her toward the orgasm she wants, her mouth spreading into a smile as she grabs ahold of my other hand, holding it over her breast, her fingers squeezing mine into a grip, her flesh swelling through our fingers. “Yes,” she whispers, her eyes meeting mine, and I jerk my fingers out of her, my wet hand gripping her hip and pushing her back, my cock hard and waiting, the moment when I push her down on it—