Grave Phantoms (Roaring Twenties #3)(67)

Bo’s hands ran down her back, fingers splayed. He rounded over her backside and palmed her with a slow, proprietary squeeze. Then he reached a little farther. Warm fingers slid beneath her buttocks and between her legs, dipping into the wetness there and stroking.

“You do want me,” he murmured, equal parts smug and surprised.

She couldn’t answer, because his roaming fingers slid away, only to be replaced by another hand in front. Skimming damp curls, he traced her swollen flesh, making lazy rotations until one finger dove through and found her clitoris, brushed it, testing. A touch like a whisper. The pleasure this caused was an avalanche that made her lose track of her strokes on him and weakened her knees. They wobbled a little and then gave out completely; she might have fallen to the floor if Bo hadn’t sensed it in time and slung an arm around her waist.

She grabbed his hips and fell against him. And with her breasts pushed to the solid wall of his chest, his hot erection trapped between them, he urged her backward, repeating, “I’ve got you.”

A single bed was pushed against the cottage’s outer wall, beneath the band of windows overlooking the ocean. The mattress was thin; the blanket, tucked military tight around it, was old and worn. Bo pushed the pillow aside as they sank into it together, his mouth covering hers. His kiss was achingly soft. Erotic. And all at once nakedly hungry. If she was hot before, she was burning now. His hands drifted over her with abandon while his knee wedged between hers. She needed no urging. Her legs parted shamelessly, and this time, when his fingers found her center, his stroke wasn’t experimental, but sure and steady. He touched her like she touched herself when she thought about him too much before sleep. He touched her like he’d had all the time in the world to imagine how it might best be done. He touched her like it was his own body, and he was pleasing himself.

After he slid two fingers inside her, it didn’t take long. She’d worried she couldn’t let herself go in front of him, but somewhere along the way, between his murmurings against her cheek—You’re so soft here. Make that sound again for me. Like this? Tell me you want me—her hips arched off the mattress and she knew she was close.

He knew, too, and when her body began shaking, he moved between her legs. Hovering over her, his weight on one arm near her head, he continued touching her and whispered, “Do you want to know a secret? I was already in love with you the afternoon I took you to the redwoods.” And with that, he replaced his fingers with his cock, and drove himself into her in one unrelenting push.

One pump of his hips and she lost her breath. Two, and she regained it, along with her voice, which was making the most bestial noises she could possibly fathom and she didn’t-care-couldn’t-stop. Three, and her mind emptied.

The orgasm ebbed and flowed, lifting her out of her body and pulling her back down again, pleasure and relief in equal measure. When the last pulses of it slowed, she wanted to wrap her legs around his and pull him down under, but he wasn’t finished with her.

His body bowed above hers, every muscle taut and tightened like a finely tuned cello. Dark hair hung over his eyes and tickled her face when he dipped his head to taste her lips. “Hold on to my arms,” he said, and she obeyed, wrapping her hands around his stony biceps. He lifted himself higher and tucked his chin to his chest, staring between them to the place where they were joined. To where he pinioned her, pushing into her, slow and steady, hips like a machine that showed no signs of tiring. Dark curls, blond curls. The root of him glistening with her wetness. He pulled out completely and then slid back inside with a shudder.

“Look at us,” he whispered. “We are beautiful.”

His words were a match combusting into fire as they struck over her skin. And she soon felt herself involuntarily clutching around him a second time. How could that be?

“Again,” Bo ordered, groaning with pleasure as his rhythm grew fiercer, steadfast, faster. “And this time, we’ll come together.”

She felt her climax gathering speed. She breathed in the scents of their bodies. And when his arms shook and his head tilted back, she watched Bo’s face straining (mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, dark brows lifted high at the inner corners), and crashed along with him.

—

Her heart beat slow and forceful, and when he pulled her closer, she felt his own heart pounding in the same unhurried way. The pleasure he’d given her still pulsed in her blood. She was slack, spent, and felt a bone-deep satisfaction of both body and mind. He shifted onto his back and drew her along with him until she was sprawled across him, limbs tangled. She fitted her cheek in the hollow at the center of his chest, sighing heavily.

“Still alive?” he whispered into her hair with an earthy sound that was almost a chuckle.

“Mm . . . not sure.” Her voice was broken and sleepy. “I feel like I’ve been drugged from my knees to my stomach.”

This time he did chuckle, and she felt it through his chest. “When have you ever been drugged?”

“I haven’t, but I imagine this is what it would be like. I’m all warm and loose. It feels amazing. How long does this last?”

The fingers that were trailing through her hair, lazily combing it back over one ear, stilled for a moment. “Are you saying that this is a novelty?”

“Well, it’s a hell of a lot different from doing it yourself,” she said.

“I meant—”