Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(63)

But Billy moved to the side, pressing his erection against my hip such that I couldn’t touch him how I wanted.

“Please, Billy. Please.”

“Shhh.” His lips were at my neck, under my ear, moving lower as his fingers toyed with my body and I clawed at him, trying to reach what he withheld. But then he pressed his pelvis forward and the brutal, hard feel of him made me wild.

I pushed his chest and he reared back, his eyes wide, alert. “Did I—are you okay?”

Growling, I pushed and pushed and pushed until he lay on his back. I straddled his lap and I rocked, pivoting, rubbing, three layers of clothes between us and yet my body didn’t seem to care.

“Scarlet, Scarlet—fuuuuuck.” The expletive tore from him, the crown of his head pressing against the blanket, his eyes rolling back, his fingers digging into my thighs beneath my skirt as I chased friction, using his rigid heat.

“Oh God,” I moaned, the first of the splintering shards speared me, my movements turned covetous and graceless.

Our eyes locked.

His were wild, dazed, gorgeous blue fire, and his big, rough hands grabbed the straps of my dress and bra and yanked them down. I heard the sound of ripping fabric as he tore the front of my dress open. I didn’t care. Eyes on my naked breasts, Billy surged forward, his arms coming around my body holding me captive. His mouth feasted, biting and tonguing, his fingers pinching and cupping and feeling.

His hips thrust upward, using me to pursue his own pleasure. The vision of his coarseness and grasping—being the instrument of this beautiful, stoic man’s complete loss of control—had me crying out, the urge to stop and tense and bow forward a powerful one because I was coming. But I pushed my body to keep moving, chasing the friction and heat, to draw it out and rock and thrust even as he tensed, and he bowed, and he shuddered, surrendering himself.

And I came. So. Damn. Hard.

And then, I came down. Barely able to catch my breath, I couldn’t hold myself upright. But that didn’t matter. Billy was there, holding me, moving me to the blanket beside him. His lips still kissing, but sweetly. Softly. One arm beneath my shoulders, tucking me into the wall of his form, he continued his exploration. His calloused palm cupping and massaging my breast, and then sliding lower, over the bunched skirt of my dress and into the waist of my underwear.

My heart pounding between my ears, I watched him. I watched as his long, tan fingers disappeared into my panties, petting the curls before I felt him separate me, picking up where he’d left off earlier. With my underwear on, it felt like a thrilling secret, his hand moving beneath the fabric where I couldn’t see. My hips shifted uncontrollably, slanting upward, wanting the invasion he was withholding.

“Billy,” I choked, the word more air than sound. I felt lost, so lost, hungry, starving. I didn’t know what was happening, how I could still feel this way after already climaxing. All my experience reaching satisfaction had been solo, and I’d never felt the urge to chase one orgasm with another.

His mouth trailed cherishing nibbles along my shoulder to my collarbone, the coarse hair of his beard delicious texture along my skin. Licking and tasting, a sound rumbled from his chest, one of primitive delight as his middle and index finger teased my entrance and he nuzzled the stiff peak at the center of my breast.

And then his body moved, the arm around my shoulders leaving me. His mouth was at my belly button and his fingers were pulling my underwear down my legs, and I wanted it even though this was a first for me and my heart was racing.

I wanted him to climb between my legs and kiss the inside of my thigh as I squirmed and panted. I wanted him to spread me with his thumbs and breathe on me, holding my eyes as he licked his lips. I wanted him to cover my aching center with his hot tongue and mouth and watch me as I completely unraveled until I couldn’t. I could no longer watch him as he watched me. Seeing myself reflected, the deep, insatiable hunger in his gaze a mirror of mine.

It was too much. Too much. I pressed the base of my palms into my closed eyes and heard myself whimper against the soundtrack of Billy devouring my body with tongue and teeth and lips, finally, finally invading me with his fingers.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” I chanted, certain I was being torn in two with the enormity and necessity of this pleasure.

Once again, I came, but this time I couldn’t control the instinct to arch and bow, tense. My legs attempted to clamp shut around his head as uncontainable, needful sounds of nonsense slipped past my lips. He pressed a palm to my stomach, maybe to hold me still, maybe to keep me from giving him a black eye with my knee.

The crisis receded slower this time, a roaring sea subdued over time to gently, lapping waves. As my legs relaxed, he lifted his head, kissing the interior of my thigh, stealing a quick bite of the tender flesh before rising over me and gathering me to his body.

I curled into him, into his heat, my hands pushing under his shirt and searching for his skin. He allowed it, helping me by lifting to one elbow so I could remove the offensive garment. Reclining once more in his arms, my cheek against his wall of a chest, I inhaled deeply, fighting the sudden urge to cry as I exhaled.

How much had I wanted this? And for how long? This closeness, intimacy with him. I felt like I was in a beautiful dream, and the terror of potentially waking slowly crept in.

“You’re a lot stronger than you look,” he said, surprising me by being the first one to break the silence with his rumbly voice.