Fall (VIP #3)(67)

His voice is just as soft when he answers. “Yeah, babe?”

“May I kiss you?”

A tremor goes through him, and he swallows hard. “You’re asking me?” The disbelief in his voice is faint but there all the same. His grip on my hips tightens and tugs.

I adjust my seat, my sex pressing more firmly into his swelling cock. “Anyone ever ask you before?”

Up close, his eyes are pure green, his lashes thick and soft; he’s almost too beautiful to look at. He blinks, those lashes sweeping. “No. Can’t say it’s ever mattered before.”

Before.

It matters now. Because he’s been sitting here believing he’s tarnished, thinking I didn’t want him.

My fingers trace the strong column of his throat. “Thing is, I think about kissing you too. Ever since I stole that first one, I’ve wanted more.” John’s hand slides up my back as I talk, his fingers tangling into the damp heat of my hair. I shiver with pleasure, my confession coming out in a breathless rush. “Whenever I open my mouth to talk to you, I’m afraid I’ll beg for another kiss, just a little taste of you—”

“Stella?” he cuts in, his gaze hot on mine.

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

So I do. And it’s so good that my entire body sighs with relief before melting with heat and need. His mouth opens to mine like he’s been waiting an eternity to feel me, taste me. I’m wrapped around him, as close as I can get, our tongues gliding, our lips slow dancing.

John grunts, low and impatient, his grip in my hair tightening. He tilts his head, trying to get more of me. And I feel it everywhere, as though my body is attached to strings that draw up tight, clenching every muscle with desire. We kiss like that until we can’t breathe, then draw away panting, only to come back to each other again. And again. Deep, luscious kisses that only last a few seconds before we try another and another.

John catches my lower lip and suckles. “Oh, fuck, you feel ... I’ve needed you …” He kisses me with soft greed, his hand moving over my body like he’s memorizing every dip and curve. “I’ve needed you, Stells. Needed this. Just this.”

I’ve needed it too. I didn’t realize how much until I’d touched him.

His lips skim over my neck, scattering shivers along my skin. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

He does too, his hair cool and silky in my hands, his jaw rough with stubble that tickles my lips. And the whole time, he’s rocking against me, working his hips in a slow, beckoning motion that makes me slightly frantic with lust.

Our mouths come together and it’s explosive this time, our control slipping. I cup the hard caps of his shoulders, my fingers gripping and caressing. His hands slip beneath my shirt, smoothing the sides of my waist.

“I want to see you,” he says against my mouth. “Can I take this off? Can I see you, sweet Stella?”

Heat rolls over me waves. “Yes. Yes.”

Our fingers tangle, mine trembling with impatience, as we pull the damn, suffocating shirt off together. It doesn’t cool me down. I burn hotter as John’s gaze moves over my torso, his expression rapt. “So pretty, Button.”

I’m wearing a simple white bra, but under his stare, I feel as beautiful and delicate as spun sugar. His wide hands slide up my ribs, and I arch my back, thrusting my breasts out. He sits up, arms wrapping around me, and presses a tender kiss to the swell of my breasts. “Every night, I’ve dreamed of this. Of you.”

His skin is hot and damp under my palms, and I run them over every inch I can.

The blunt tips of his fingers trace the clasp of my bra. “This too?” he asks.

“Yes. Please, John.” My breasts are swollen, my nipples tender and achy. I need his touch. “Please.”

“Anything,” he says. “Anything you need.”

The bra slips away. He makes a sound deep in his throat. “Oh, hell. Freckles. You’re killing me.” He goes about kissing each one, his tongue touching them like they’re candy. When he finally gently laps my nipple, I groan, tilting my head back.

His hot mouth closes over me and pulls with rhythmic tugs. The tip of his tongue flicks the swollen tip, and it’s too much and not enough, and I curl myself over him, my arms around his neck, my breast at his mouth. I’m riding his cock, dry humping him as though we’re horny teens in a backseat.

John releases my nipple with a wet pop. I shudder, wanting him to return.

“Touch me,” he says, moving his lips along my skin, seeking out my other breast. “Please. Touch me.”

His belly is tight and smooth. I follow the ridge down the center of his abs. He grunts, his mouth full of me. I fumble with the button of his jeans, and then he’s in my hand, hot and hard and substantial. I stroke that silken heat, my thumb running over the weeping crown, and he shudders.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck. More, Stella. Give me more.”

His mouth finds mine. There’s no more talk, just soft whispers of want and approval, needy whimpers, and groans for more. Our kisses are a mess, frantic, wet, deep. Exchanges of breath. Shaking exhales. I’m jacking his cock as he tweaks my nipples, and it’s so hot and good. I’m going to come and he hasn’t even touched my clit.

“John …” I rock against him, keening.