All the Feels (Spoiler Alert #2)(83)

He took her nipple carefully between his teeth, and her hips jerked.

“That’s—that’s nonsense,” she managed to get out.

“Just doing my part to save humanity,” he said against her damp skin. “You’re welcome.”

His tongue playing with the hard tip of her nipple, he slid a hand between her thighs and parted her curls. The soft, hot folds of her pussy quivered against his fingers, and her legs shook as he circled her entrance, circled her clit, without ever giving her what she needed to come.

The angle of his neck was painful. Impossible to hold. So he dragged his open mouth over her chest and up her neck, nipping her soft flesh, and her moan vibrated against his tongue.

“I can’t wait to fuck you,” he said, licking the shadowed curve beneath her jaw, then a spot beneath her ear. “But tonight, I want to make you come with my fingers and my tongue, because, Wren—” He finally stroked over her clit with a fingertip, and she whimpered into the still night. “I’m really fucking good with my tongue.”

“You should be.” Somehow, even as her legs tensed and her breath hitched with every brush of his finger over her clit, she was laughing. They both were. “It certainly gets enough use.”

“You have no idea,” he told her.

She clenched around the two fingers he slipped inside her, and he explored until she threw her head back and whimpered again.

There. When he went down on her later, he’d remember that spot.

Back to her swollen little clit. A tight, light circle. Another. Another.

“You’re so responsive.” He sucked at her neck, using his teeth, and flicked her nipple with his free hand. “Christ, you’re going to feel good on my dick, Wren.”

She came crying out, her back arched, her thighs shaking and tight around his hips, her pussy pulsing against his stroking fingers. He slipped his thumb inside to feel it, to feel what he’d done to her, and she squeezed hard with each spasm.

She was still clenching, still coming, when she grasped his cock in one small, strong hand and stroked up and down, and his brain shorted out. He could only see white, only feel her hot breath on his nipple, the wetness of her mouth as she sucked, the tug of her fist in his hair, only fuck into her tight grip until the burgeoning need of weeks and months exploded into orgasm.

He roared, bucking and lost, pouring everything he had, everything he was, into the slickness of her hand and the water and her round belly.

And as soon as he could see again, as soon as he could feel anything other than her hand on his twitching dick, he slapped a palm on the jet controls, and they thundered to life. His chest heaving, his lungs burning for air, he turned Wren in his lap to face those jets and spread her legs with his own.

She squirmed at the sudden stimulation, and he held her still and tight against his wet chest, one hand on her breast, the other sliding down between her legs again.

His voice was shredded, a rough, low taunt. “I thought you were going to be quiet.”

“I was quieter than you,” she panted.

The jets could take care of her clit. He wanted inside.

When he sank two fingers into her pussy, then three, she spread her legs wider and moaned loudly enough to wake their neighbors, and he didn’t give a fuck.

“Maybe,” he said, “but I’m not done yet.”

He rubbed in just the right place, and after that, the argument was won. At least, until they tumbled into bed together and she got her mouth on him.

Once he’d sucked her clit until she screamed, sweaty and trembling, she offered a draw.

He took it. And then took her again.





25


“THREE PEOPLE, WREN,” ALEX REMINDED HER FOR THE umpteenth time as they squatted and sifted through handfuls of sand and sea glass. “Three separate people called the front desk, concerned about a woman who sounded like she was in terrible pain. No one called about a man. Not one person.”

He’d surpassed smugness somewhere around Mendocino, where they’d stopped for lunch, and now approached outright gloating.

And goodness help her, he’d earned that unbearable self-satisfaction. Every bit of it.

Nonstop talking had apparently made his tongue agile over the years. Very, very agile. As he’d demonstrated once more before they’d checked out that morning.

“No one mentioned a man, true.” A pretty green circle peeked from the sand, next to a cloudy blue rectangle. She transferred both into his back jeans pocket for safekeeping, then patted him on the ass for good measure. “But you keep omitting the four people who reported agitated coyotes in the area overnight. Not to mention the hotel guest who insisted a lion had escaped from a nearby zoo.”

The staff member maintaining the breakfast buffet had proven very chatty that morning. So chatty Lauren’s face had nearly combusted from embarrassed heat, and she’d had to pretend great interest in the bagel selection lest the innocent employee unravel the Mystery of the Wounded Woman.

“Oh, my.” Alex had frowned, brow creased in faux solemnity. “Did anyone note which was louder, the woman or the agitated—”

When Lauren had elbowed his side, he’d yelped and quit taunting her. Until they checked out and got back into the car, at least. After that, the only thing that stopped his ceaseless chatter was her tongue in his mouth, and she therefore employed said tongue whenever they were stopped in traffic or parked beside a scenic vista.