Built (Saints of Denver #1)(56)
One of his hands curled around my hip and the other made me jolt as his fingers dipped between my legs and danced between folds and into places that were already wet and aching. I muttered his name on a drawn-out sigh and shifted so that I could wind my fingers into the thick mess of his dark hair. I wanted to hold him to me forever, and if I thought the tickle of his beard against my lips was addicting I knew that I would never recover from the way it felt rubbing against the sensitive skin at the apex of my thighs. It was rough and springy. It scraped across my skin at the same time as his fingers stroked inside my body and his clever tongue landed on my clit.
I think I screamed. I probably screamed because he chuckled against my throbbing center and continued his overwhelming stimulation. I was pulling on his hair, urging him closer and closer even though he was invading all my private places in the most devastating ways possible. He added another finger to the wetness he was coaxing out of me and the gentle nip of teeth. It had my hips arching up off the step I was sitting on and my legs quaking where they rested next to his head. There wasn’t any place to hide from him or the feelings and emotions he had coursing through me. It was a lot to process and I was shocked that I wanted more. I was stunned when the words flew out of my mouth between pants and his name. I asked him to destroy me, to own me, to push me over the edge and leave me shattered in the aftermath. I didn’t use those words exactly, but when I told him “more,” and “deeper,” and “harder,” I think he understood the message.
Suddenly he had my hips in his hands and was lifting them up to his face. The sheer strength this required made me melt, and when he barked at me to touch myself right before his tongue filled up the empty space his fingers had left, I thought I was going to evaporate into nothing. He was f*cking me with his mouth, his hands were hard on my skin, leaving marks I knew I would stare at with a mixture of awe and pride in the morning, and I was letting my own fingers drift over that intense spot of pleasure with a deftness I had never, ever known myself to have. The thought of all the times I had done this to myself while thinking of him, while imagining him doing this very thing to me, was enough to have me convulsing and enough to have pleasure rushing across my fingers and flooding his quick tongue with desire. He groaned deep in his chest, a heavy rumble of satisfaction, and it was so hot. We were so hot and I couldn’t believe it. There was nothing cold or icy crawling up my spine, just languid satisfaction and the need to make him feel as good as I felt.
He let my legs fall limply to his sides and bent forward to place a kiss right above my belly button. I sighed at the abrasion of his beard against my skin there and shivered from the wet kiss of what was left of my orgasm where it clung to him and now to me as well. It was sexy as hell and I wanted to touch his lips where they smirked and shined at me.
“Flawless.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I decided not to say anything at all.
The fabric of my skirt was still all twisted around my waist and I wanted it gone, so I sat up and started to wiggle out of it. Once it was in a heap on the stairs at my feet and I was totally naked, I finally managed to find some composure, rose to my feet, and held out a hand that he immediately clasped in his own.
“You know how amazing my bedroom is since you built it. We might as well put it to use.”
He lifted an eyebrow at me and rose to his feet. The bulge in his pants was unmistakable and so was the hungry look in his eyes. Walking buck-ass naked in front of any man, but especially a man as confident and secure in who he was as this one was, would typically rank up there with all of my worst nightmares, but there was something heady in the air around us, something languid inside of me after all of his wonderful, wild words, that made me feel powerful and in control in a totally different way than I normally was.
Thankfully my room wasn’t a tornado of discarded clothing and scattered shoes like it usually was after I got ready for work. I hit the light by the bedside and turned to face the mountain of delectable man that had followed me into the room. He was already pulling his shirt off and stripping out of the white tank top he had on underneath. My fingertips tingled with the desire to trace the endless miles of ink that covered his chest and my mouth watered when his muscles rippled and flexed as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and tossed it on the unmade bed over my shoulder. It was my turn to lift an eyebrow and he just shrugged.
“We’re gonna need it later, and if I work things right, my pants aren’t going to be on hand.”
He made me laugh. He made me do a lot of things I didn’t typically do, and for the second time in my life I kissed a boy. I took charge, stepped into him so that our bare chests pressed together, and wrapped my arms around his shoulders so I could kiss him. He rested his hands on my hips and didn’t push, didn’t rush me, just let me lean into him and taste and explore. It was intoxicating and I just wanted to taste him and feel him pressed against me forever. I pulled back when my lungs felt like they were going to burst, but since I was being bold, owning the confidence that he somehow siphoned into me, I reached for his belt and started working on getting him as naked as I was.
“The bed is right there and you said clothing wasn’t optional if I picked option number two, so you need to catch up, Zeb.”
He laughed and it sounded a little strained as he took a step back from my eager fingers so he could kick off his heavy boots and drop his pants and boxer shorts in a pile on the floor. His cock was hard and pointed up at his washboard belly as he moved back toward me. The sight of all that male perfection made my mouth water and I couldn’t stop myself from licking my lips. He groaned when he watched the action and grabbed his substantial erection in his fist and gave it a couple pumps.