Burn It Up(34)

“Take your sweater off, honey,” he murmured, pulling back.

She did, tugging her long-sleeved tee back down over her belly. He wrapped his arms around her, kneaded at her back, his mouth hot on her neck, beard tickling. She held his head and shut her eyes, replayed every moan and cuss he’d let her hear when they’d first messed around.

What’s changed? she had to wonder. This man panting at her throat was different. While on Monday he’d been hesitant, even a little resistant, now he felt eager and possessive. Hungry.

She drew her fingers through his hair, mesmerized. “Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t even know.” His words were all but lost against her neck. “Just you. Here.”

Her own needs, exactly. Just to feel this, in the midst of everything else that was happening. Something simple, primal, to banish the chaos for a little while.

She slid lower along his body, leveling their hips. He kissed her while she admired him, her hands taking in the curve of his back, the firm muscle of his butt, the heat of his skin beneath his shirt. Her thigh was locked around his, and when he began to move, she felt him—excited and hard behind his jeans.

For a long moment, everything was friction and heat. Then all at once, Casey stilled, pulling away enough to meet her eyes.

“The baby,” he murmured, nodding to the corner as he caught his breath.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s weird. Isn’t it?”

“Parents have been doing it for centuries. She can’t even see.” There was a blanket draped over the side of the crib to block the glow of the reading lamp. “Just try to stay quiet.” Abilene was aching to see that, actually—the strain on Casey’s face as he struggled to stifle his sounds, his excitement.

“It’ll be dinner soon. Someone could knock.”

“Christine almost never does—it’s too likely me or the baby are napping.” And precisely who was this man, suddenly so concerned with propriety?

“But when she doesn’t see either of us,” Casey said, “she might get worried.”

She sensed it was a different person’s worries that had him hesitating—his own. She’d seen this look in too many men’s eyes to mistake it. The look of a guy who didn’t always do the right thing trying desperately to figure out just how out-of-bounds things were about to get. And whatever he might say on the matter, this man was better than most. But she couldn’t bear it if he chose to be good tonight.

Bad always felt so damn much better.

“Please, don’t make this stop.” She was begging—it was in her voice, probably in her eyes as well. “It feels too nice.” Too real and easy, while reality was so uncertain.

Casey hesitated. “I guess we have a little while, still . . .”

She took that as a green light, drawing his mouth back to hers. And no matter his concerns, he was still stiff when she cupped her hand between them. He moaned against her lips, and his hips pressed him harder along her palm.

She worried he’d halt her when she went for his belt, but he didn’t. Once the buckle was freed and she was fussing with the button of his fly, he surprised her. Edged her hand away and did the job himself, then pushed his jeans low on his hips. He led her back to his cock, wrapping her fingers around him through his shorts. He made a sound, a pained little sigh, as she stroked him, then put his mouth to her neck once again, kissing roughly between hungry breaths.

“You feel good,” she whispered.

“So do you. Just tell me where I can touch you. Please. I f*cking love your body.”

She blushed, hot with nerves and pleasure. “I’m not sure. I guess, wherever you like, and I’ll just tell you if it’s too much. Just . . . just through my clothes, for now.” Only one other time in her life had she felt this insecure about being naked before a man, and that had been with James. Though the circumstances—and indeed her physical flaws—couldn’t be more different.

“Your breasts?”

They weren’t as oversensitive as they had been, though the thought still gave her pause. “You can try, if you’re gentle. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

His hand slid from her collarbone to her breast, cupping, nothing more. The heat of him alone sent a shockwave through her, tensing her body atop the covers and her fingers around his cock.

“Too much?”

She shook her head, managed a nearly noiseless, “No.”

He offered a soft squeeze, and pleasure bloomed, if shyly.

“That’s nice.”

“Good. You feel nice.” His touch echoed his words, full of reverence and care and curiosity. She settled into the caresses, letting the last of her worry melt away against him.

Her own hand had gone still on his cock, and she could feel his hips flexing, aching for more but not forcing it. She gave him a long, light stroke, reveling in his reaction. His entire body tensed, then softened, breath coming quicker. She offered a slow pull, squeezing him tighter and earning a moan.

“Fuck, it’s hot.” He stripped his shirt clean away. His skin was fair, flushed pink here and there, just as she’d imagined.

“Here,” he breathed, and reached between them to push the front of his shorts down and release his bare cock into her hand. His skin was hot and smooth, flesh hard. Her body responded, hunger rousing deep in her belly. Everything intensified as he cupped her breast once more—his sounds, his caresses, every muscle. Those hips pushed him deep into each of her strokes, mimicking sex, setting her on fire.