Sweet Cheeks(53)

I moan when he slips his fingers into me. A teasing inch at first. A suggestion of what’s to come. And then his mouth is on mine, pulling me under once again. And just when I’m drugged enough, he slips his fingers all the way in, circles them to ignite the nerves within, and rubs his thumb with a hint of touch over my clit.

My hips buck at the onslaught of sensation. Tongue. Fingers. Thumb. His groan. My plea for more. Then it starts all over again. A slow build up. A soft seduction of my nerves. A murmur of praise. An assault of pleasure.

The orgasm surprises me. It sounds stupid but it feels so very different from what I’m used to. A slow surge of warmth. A tensing of muscles. Hayes’s name on my lips as the wave rises and pulls me in its unexpected undertow. Drowns me in the surge of pleasure and a wash of desire. My muscles pulse around his fingers as his thumb continues to circle over my clit. My fingernails dig into his biceps and hips twist in pleasurable pain.

I’m still lost in the orgasmic fog, still on the high from it when he withdraws his fingers from me and brings them to my parted lips. His eyes are on mine—locked and intense—when he coats my lips with my own arousal. I draw in a shaky breath as he slowly leans forward and runs his tongue over the path his fingers left. The moan he emits is sex personified.

It’s unexpectedly arousing.

It’s entirely consuming.

It’s intoxicatingly erotic.

His lips follow. A brush against mine. When I lick my tongue against my lips to ask for more, his chuckle rumbles through the room.

“My pace, Saylor. Not yours. I’m in control now. You may own pieces of me you never even knew, but right now, I’m going to own you. Every single part of you.”

My blood fires at the words. Libido ignites, and yet I’m stunned into silence. Shocked by his confession. Body rocked by his touch.

“Hayes.” One word. A plea. A question. A sigh.

He kisses me again, but this time with more demand. More greed. He’s tongue and lips and little nips of teeth, all the while my body is still vibrating from the remnants of the orgasm.

His hand is on my neck, holding my head still as he seduces my lips and relights the fire that he left smoldering. My hands reach down and circle his length to stroke the hardness of him. I feel the drop of pre-cum on his head. Smear it around with my thumb before deliberately leaning back and sucking on my thumb.

I close my eyes and taste him on my skin. Moan softly. When I open them back up, his eyes are ablaze with a hunger that’s new to me.

“I want you, Say.” His voice is guttural. Desperate. Empowering.

I slide my hands to my breasts and rub my nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. The flour he knocked over coats my hands. Adds a difference of sensation. My lips part in a soft gasp.

He swallows visibly and darts his tongue to his lips. “Right here. Right now.” He steps into me. Slides a hand up my torso, over my hands on my breasts, and replaces my fingers with his own. The sensation is heavenly. My back arches and my head falls back but not enough to lose eye contact with him.

And just when I want to close my eyes he dips forward and circles my nipple with his tongue. Then sucks. It’s like an electric current has been sent straight to every nerve in my body. Shocking them aware. Making them feel every singular sensation: the heat of his tongue, the scrape of his stubble, and the vibration of his groan against my skin.

“No one’s watching now.” He looks up to me from beneath lids heavy with desire. “It’s just you. And me.”

His words are like an aphrodisiac. A stimulant. An eraser to the errant thoughts I had before he walked in.

I was wrong. He did want to kiss me.

“And f*ck how much I want you right now.”

Wanting to test the control he claims to want, I bring a hand to the back of his neck and pull him to me. My mouth is against his. A taunt of a kiss. A nip to his lip. His name a moan. I show him I want him just as fiercely. Running my tongue over the coarseness of his jaw to his ear, I say, “I’ve always wanted you.”

The words are out before I can stop them. The transparency of the moment taking over and speaking truths I can’t take back. A confession I don’t think I even wanted to admit to myself.

There’s a falter in motion. A second where our eyes meet and our emotional guard is lowered. And then the moment takes over.

A growl deep in his throat as he slides his hand back up my midline between my breasts before pushing me to lie back onto the flour-coated granite slab behind me. His hands hook around my thighs and pull me toward him.

A moment of separation. A curse as his feet pad from the room before coming back. The telltale rip of foil.

Anticipation builds. His fingers part me and cool air touches my heated skin. The thick curve of his head as he presses it against my wet center. I widen my thighs. Close my eyes. And revel in that soft, sweet, all-consuming burn as he slowly pushes his way into me.

Good. God. Yes.

My back arches. My hands press flat against the cool counter. My breath catches. The ache builds, inch by agonizingly slow inch until he’s sheathed root to tip.

His soft groan of, “Jesus Fucking Christ, Saylor,” is enough of a response to tell me he feels the same way I do.

His fingers tighten on my hips and desire is reflected in the touch. My muscles tremble. My eyes are closed, mind lost to the thought of how, after all this time, only one person has ever made me feel like this: full, complete, wanted, desired, loved.