Melt for You (Slow Burn #2)(89)
I sit up, bat his hand out of the way, curl both my hands around his cock, and take it in my mouth.
His moan makes me feel like a goddess.
He digs his hands into my hair as I suckle him and fondle his balls with one hand while stroking his thick shaft with the other, feeling even more like a goddess when he curses under his breath.
“Bloody hell, that sweet fucking mouth,” he whispers, flexing his hips. “I love that mouth. I love—”
He gasps when I take him as deep as I can down my throat.
Then I’m on my stomach, flipped over in a lightning-fast move. Cam drags my ass in the air with an arm wrapped under my waist, props me onto my knees, then flips my dress up, exposing my bottom. The next thing I feel is teeth sinking into my backside.
I suck in a surprised breath. My hands curl to fists in the blankets.
His warm breath feathering over my skin, Cam rasps, “Wanted to do that since the second I laid eyes on you, standin’ at my door in that ugly green sweater, tellin’ me to turn the music down, all curves and sass.”
He bites me again, not hard enough to break the skin but hard enough to sting, and growls. I nearly faint. Adrenaline crashes through me. I can barely catch my breath.
He continues to bite me, sliding a hand between my legs to stroke me as he makes his way across one cheek to the other until my entire ass is stinging and I’m rocking against his big hand, panting into the sheets, dying.
I’m dying. He’s going to kill me. He’s pinching my clit and biting my ass and I’m in absolute heaven.
“I have to get this dress off.” He pulls at my zipper, impatient, but I don’t have time for that.
“Leave it on,” I say, panting. “Just leave it on and fuck me.”
I don’t have to tell him twice. He yanks open a drawer in the bedside table. I hear crinkling and the rip of foil and open my eyes to enjoy the incredible pleasure of watching him roll a condom down the length of his big, glorious cock.
Then he’s on his knees behind me, steadying himself with his hands on my hips. In another second, his erection nudges me, then stretches me open until I’m gasping.
He takes a big handful of my hair, wraps it around his wrist so my head tilts back, then thrusts his hips, driving inside me.
I cry out. He thrusts again. I moan at the feel of him, big and invading, his incredible heat all over me, inside me, the smell of his skin in my nose. Then he’s fucking me with long, hard strokes, holding me in place for his pleasure with that one hand wrapped around my hip and my hair like a leash around his wrist.
He slaps my ass, hard. I laugh like a lunatic because I love it so much.
He knows. Of course he knows what I like. He starts to alternate slapping my ass with reaching around and fondling my engorged clit until I’m moaning and thrashing and completely out of my mind, bucking back into his every thrust, right on the razor’s edge of orgasm.
He reaches up and pinches my rigid nipple right through the dress, and I convulse around him.
“Fuck,” he whispers hoarsely. “You’re coming. Oh fuck, Joellen—”
He cuts off with a groan as I come, everything inside me clenching and unclenching in fast, furious waves. It’s good, so good, oh God, so good. I don’t realize I’ve said that aloud until Cam agrees with me.
“I knew we’d be perfect together.”
He flips me over onto my back but stays on his knees, pulling me up so my head and shoulders are on the pillow, but he’s holding the rest of me up with his hands gripped under my ass. I brace my hands against the headboard as he starts to thrust into me this way, his breathing labored and his hair falling into his eyes, every muscle in his chest and abdomen tight and straining.
He’s so beautiful it’s like I’m having sex with a piece of art.
My body is squishy compared to his, but it doesn’t matter. It’s all in his eyes, which devour every inch of me like it’s the first time they’ve glimpsed the sun.
He lifts one of my legs and props my ankle on his shoulder. Now he’s as deep as he can go, and I’m making sounds I’ve never made before, animal sounds, urging him on. He turns his head and kisses my ankle, a gesture so sweet it sends a piercing pain like an arrow shot straight through my chest.
I squeeze shut my eyes, but I can’t stop the inarticulate sound of distress that breaks from me. Even as I’m building toward another orgasm, I’m fighting a sudden onslaught of emotion, because I know that no matter how good it is, this can’t go any further than tonight.
I reach out and grab his arms, pulling him down on top of me, then wrap my arms and legs around him and bury my face in his neck, inhaling his smell, trying to burn this moment into my memory. He shudders and softly groans. His thrusts grow faster. Harder. His breathing is as erratic as the beating of my heart.
“Lass,” he gasps.
“Please,” I whimper, because I’m right there, too.
Then we’re over the edge together, stiffening and crying out, my body bowed beneath his, my head thrown back against the pillow. He’s bucking, wild and out of control, digging his fingers into my scalp as he loses himself in my body, and the final shred of my denial unravels and breaks free.
I have feelings for Cameron McGregor.
God, this is really going to hurt.
THIRTY-TWO
It’s late—or early. I don’t know which. I’m snug in bed in the circle of Cam’s arms, tracing my fingers over all the tattoos on his chest because I want to remember every detail about him after he’s gone.