After Hours (InterMix)(30)

He kissed my ear, and when he spoke it was like he’d stepped inside my mind. “Not all of you.”

“You scare me, a little.”

Another soft kiss. “What about me?”

Your intentions. And the way you garble my intuition. “I don’t know. You’re just more . . .”

“More what?” Another kiss, another hot exhalation.

I spoke from some thoughtless, honest place. “I don’t trust myself around you. This way.”

“There’s something between us,” he murmured. “We’re just doing what it’s asking.”

“It feels like I’m just doing what you ask.”

“And you don’t like that?” As he said it, his fingers traced my lips through my panties, cock pressing close. Heat flashed, dizzying me.

I swallowed a moan, scrabbling for words. “I like it now. I’m afraid I’ll wish I hadn’t done so much in the morning. It feels good, but it won’t last.”

“That’s what pleasure is.”

Indeed. That was what made much of it decadent. Every one-too-many cocktails a person downed, every cookie that wrecked a diet, every bad-idea boyfriend taken by my mother or sister . . . all just pleasures given in to, consequences be damned. But I hated consequences. I’d spent my entire life searching for calm in the fallout of other people’s shitty impulses.

Push him away, my brain said.

Fuck him, my body begged. All these years you’ve wasted cleaning up after other people’s parties. Quit reaching for the dustpan.

Kelly slid my pajama bottoms over my hips. Thoughtlessly, I shifted to let him pull them to my thighs, my knees, then I kicked them away myself, all those fresh chances to tell him to stop heaped on the growing pile.

His hand was on my belly and slipping lower, lower. His cock was against my ass, insistent. I felt his knee nudging my legs, and I did as it said, raising the top one. He moved behind me, adjusting his erection, pressing it deeper between my thighs. My breath was shallow, cheeks fevered, lips swollen. Drunk again. Drunk on Kelly.

“Jesus,” I muttered.

“Got a better name you can say, if you want.”

Before I could reply, his hand slipped inside my underwear, robbing me of words. His fingers tickled my curls, warmed my skin. They glanced my clitoris and I bucked. It was too much and nowhere near enough. His breath steamed hot on my neck, and with a low, sharp moan, he stroked my clit. I gasped.

“Good,” he murmured. He withdrew his hand but only to wet his fingertips at his mouth. Then they were between my legs again, hot and slick, teasing me with explicit caresses. I groaned, imagining his tongue. His cock. He was imagining the same, I knew. I could feel his hips moving, rubbing his thick length against my inner thighs with steady thrusts.

I’d never wanted a man so intensely. So simply. His flesh inside mine, two greedy bodies taking what they wanted from each other. I imagined him above me, working. That harsh face, cruel with arousal, that voice hijacked by the sounds of his nearing release. My own climax was building against his quickening touch. I fondled my breast, toying with my nipple to double the sensations.

I was close, so close, and Kelly could tell. His hips bumped my backside again and again, clothed cock f*cking my thighs. He grunted behind my ear with each impact, and it was his voice that did me in. The orgasm swallowed me whole, drowning me in perfect, violent heat; too much, way too much. I grabbed Kelly’s wrist, forcing his hand higher, the pleasure so intense it hurt.

I heard myself panting, gulping air.

I heard Kelly murmur, “Good girl,” and he kissed my jaw. I let his wrist go and the ball of his hand brushed my throbbing clit with a jolt. His fingers dipped lower, parting me like water. I blushed, shocked by how wet I was.

That’s been permission enough for too many pushy men, I reminded myself. But his fingers delved deeper and a lust-heavy sigh in my hair erased the worries.

“That’s where I want to be,” he whispered. He stroked my clit with his slick fingers, then slipped back inside with a moan. “You want me there, too, don’t you?”

I wouldn’t lie, but I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t take this chance to reassert some boundaries. “I want you,” I admitted. “But not tonight. Not that far.”

“I heard you the first time.” Not a jot of irritation in his tone—just a fact. His hand left my * to fumble behind my butt. Suddenly I could feel him, his unmistakably bare cock between my thighs, pressed to the damp crotch of my panties. Then he was touching me again, warm fingers penetrating with slippery suggestion, erection stroking me through the cotton. He spoke right against my neck, lips tickling my skin. “Feel that?”