Holding Her Hand (Reed Brothers Book 15)(32)

I help her pull her shirt over her head, and then I stop, because unveiling her will be like taking a cover off a precious piece of art, and I want to savor every moment of it. “May I?” I ask, and I point to the bra hook that’s between her breasts.

She nods, still chewing on that lower lip.

I unhook the delicate clasp and pull the two sides apart. She squeezes her eyes shut and her breaths fall heavy against my forehead. “So pretty,” I say out loud. Her breasts are small and round, with perfect rosy nipples.

“So are you,” she replies.

I take her nipple into my mouth and tug it gently, my hand cupping the tender underside of her breast. She squirms for a second, and then she freezes. Her hand threads into the hair at the back of my head and she holds me in place. I look up at her without releasing her nipple, and she finally sees me, and nods her head. This is okay, she lets me know. This is fine. This is what I want. This is us.

She smells like vanilla and lilacs, like cookies and subtle flowers, and she tastes like heaven. Her nipple pebbles against my tongue, and I release it long enough to pay the same attention to the one on the other side.

She tugs my hair, so I look up. “You’ve done this before?” she asks.

“Sex?”

She nods.

“Yes.” I almost wish I could say no, but I’d be lying. “Are you afraid?” I stare into her eyes while I give her nipples gentle tugs with my fingertips, elongating them. Her mouth falls open.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she says. She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a breath. I can feel the rise and fall of her chest.

“I’m afraid of you,” I confess out loud.

She freezes. “Why?”

“The others…they were nothing. What I feel for you… I can’t even describe it. I feel like I’m coming home after a long trip. Like this is where I was always meant to be.”

“Even though I’m hearing?” she asks.

“Yes.” I nod at her. “You’re you. I never realized you were missing. But you were. And now you’re here and I feel like I’ve come home. Is that stupid?”

She laughs. “No.” She stares into my eyes. “It’s perfect.”

I kiss her belly and pop the button on her jeans, taking a minute to run my hands over the scars on her belly. “Can I kiss you down here?”

She nods and helps me take off her jeans and panties, lifting her bottom before I slide them down her legs and over her feet. Her legs are slender like her arms, and there are more spatter scars from the hot oil accident. Her belly is bumpy from actual burns and skin grafts, and I take the time to run my hands all over it, letting her know that it’s okay, that I like every inch of her.

I kiss her over her mound, letting my lips linger until she squirms and opens her thighs ever so slightly. I push them wider, skimming my fingers up and down the soft, supple skin of her inner thighs. She wiggles her hips and I blow gently across her folds, which are glistening and pink and waiting for me to taste her. Her * is bare and damp, with just a tiny tuft of hair at the top of her crease. I would take her * any way I could get it, but I particularly love that she shaves.

I lick her slit, watching her face closely. She closes her eyes and fills her lungs with air as her hands fist in the quilt under her. I can’t get quite close enough, so I palm her ass, lift her to my mouth, and suck her clit between my lips, tonguing it gently but fiercely, because I need for her to come quickly. I need for her to come before I come in my pants. I need to feel her shatter.

Her hips find a rhythm against my tongue, and I use the flat of it to lick her clit. Her thighs begin to tremble on each side of my head, and they lift to press against my ears as she thrusts against my mouth.

Then she falls apart. I feel it when it happens, and I watch her all the way through it, not releasing my grip on her ass or my frantic pace against her clit until she tries to pull away from me. She’s probably sensitive now that she came, so I slow my tongue, bringing her back down. Her belly clenches in small spasms and I wish my dick was inside her so I could feel them. Some men say they can’t feel the tremble in a *, but if you’re inside a woman and you just made her come like crazy, you pay attention and you enjoy every second of it. I watch her body, and stop moving my tongue when she falls replete against the bed. She lays a hand on her chest and stares up at the ceiling, her breaths falling harshly, her chest heaving.

I wipe my face on the quilt and climb up to lie beside her. “You came like crazy, right?” I gloat and pretend to pat myself on the back.

She rolls toward me and hooks a leg over my hip. My dick pulses, already reaching for her heat. “Do you have a condom?” she asks.

I nod and reach behind me, pull open a drawer, and get a condom. She takes it from me and rips it open with her teeth.

“Can I do it?” she asks.

I nod and watch her as she sinks down a little lower in the bed. Her fingertips play around the head of my dick.

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt you,” she says.

I take her hand in mine and squeeze it. “It’s a dick,” I tell her. “You’re not going to break it. Be as rough as you want.”

She laughs and rolls the condom down until it’s snug at the base of my cock. I tug it a little lower, and then I roll on top of her. I press against her center, and she freezes.