Burn It Up(36)

“I’d die to be inside you,” Casey murmured, voice low and strained.

It was with both bravery and fear that she spoke the truth. “I’m not ready for that yet. I’m sorry.” Much as she wanted to see, even feel it, much as she wanted to please him, she couldn’t. Not yet.

He smiled down at her, body stilling. “Don’t be sorry. Last thing I want is to do something you’re not into.”

“Thanks.” It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been with men who’d been content with the opposite. “I like making you feel good. It feels as good as sex to me, just now.”

“Can I keep going?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He paused to get his shorts off, and when the blanket slipped away, she seized that moment to memorize his naked body in the low light. He pulled the covers back over them, surely for discretion and not warmth—the room felt about a hundred degrees now.

He stroked against her, and the motions of his body and the friction through her underwear was as explicit as actual sex, after walling these feelings off for so long.

“Does it feel okay for you?” he whispered.

“It feels amazing.” Truly amazing—she’d forgotten the way the desire gathered, spurred by every sense. Beyond the thrill of his rushing cock, there was the feel of his bare skin under her palms, the weight and heat of him above her, the sounds of his panting, the smell of him, the divine spectacle of his strained face. She drew that face close and kissed his mouth, needing to taste him. He groaned softly, hips speeding.

And all at once, she felt it—a rushing, building pressure, that warm wash of sensation.

Holy shit. She was going to come. She hugged his waist a little higher, seeking the friction that had the pleasure rushing low and hot and frantic.

“Casey.”

She had no other words. She could only clasp the back of his neck and grip his arm, and hold on tight. He caught on in a blink—realized what was happening. His body tightened and the motions intensified, his pursuit going from pleasure-seeking to a focused mission. His every breath was a stifled moan now, desperate little seething huffs escaping in time with his racing hips. Her shirt had ridden up, and his head glanced her belly with every thrust. She could feel slickness there, evidence of how close he had to be himself. And that was what did her in, in the end.

“Casey.” She held him tight and shut her eyes, lost to it—a rushing, rising force, as startling as it was pleasurable. It came to a head at the point where his hard cock stroked her seam, dropped her from the sky and back into her body. She came down breathing hard. Panting. Shocked and exhilarated and thrilled.

Her nails were dug into his skin and she let him go in an instant. “Sorry.” Shame chased the pleasure as the dusk chased the day—inevitably, inextricably.

“Don’t be sorry. Did you . . . ?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, barely able to believe it. “Yeah, I did.”

“Awesome.”

She laughed, feeling tipsy now. Like the orgasm had been a shot of something strong, leaving a warm buzz in her muscles and her head. Even as a very young, deeply religious girl, she’d had a hard time believing God had made her body capable of feeling this good, only to proclaim it a sin. “I just need a minute.” A minute for the burn of the shame to mellow, and a minute for her clit to recover enough for Casey to continue.

But for now . . . “Here.” She reached between them, and Casey scooted up, straddling her thighs so she could clasp him. He groaned as her fingers closed around him, his hips jerking. She pumped him slowly in her fist.

“Fuck, that feels good. Little tighter.”

She gave him that, trying to ignore an ugly pang as her brain fixated on that word once again. It didn’t warrant dwelling on. She turned her focus to this moment, to watching his excitement mount.

“Could you . . .” He trailed off, looking lost to the pleasure.

“Anything,” she prompted.

“Spit in your hand,” he said. “I want to imagine it.”

Imagine us actually having sex, she thought as she wet her palm. She slicked it along his shaft, then again. The rubbing became gliding, and she didn’t know how anything could ever feel even half as intimate as this.

He put his hand over hers, speeding her touch. Showed her what he liked, curling her fingers around him just under his crown, working him in tight, short pulls. “Like that. Exactly like that.”

She shivered at those words, excited all over again.

“Feels f*cking amazing, honey. Don’t stop.”

“I could use my mouth . . .”

“No, no. Just like this. I’m so close.”

“Good.”

“Say my name,” he murmured, eyes shut.

“Casey.”

“Yeah.”

She drew him down by the shoulder, said it again, and again, whispered it against his neck and kissed him there. She bet he was noisy in bed, normally—right now it seemed it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut. Every grunt and groan came out muffled and wild, a barrage of moans and hisses.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “I’m gonna come. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.”

“Say my name.”

She raked his earlobe softly with her teeth, then said it, right there.