Burn It Up(51)

Her hips told him when he’d found the right speed and pressure—they rolled subtly, seeking his tongue and the thrust, mimicking sex. He wanted to groan, to swear, to tell her how f*cking hot she was; he didn’t. He kept up the pleasure until her motions grew sharp and urgent, until her hands trembled, and he let her hear his desire in the moans rising up from his throat, humming against her *. He wished he could see her face as he had yesterday when he’d made her come, beautiful and wild and disbelieving.

He got her voice instead, whispering his name. That sound rang through his head as he brought her to orgasm, his hips pumping in time with hers, cock dying to be where his fingers were. As her body stilled, he did the same with his mouth and hand, and sat up. He rubbed her legs, memorizing her expression. The cheek lit by the weak light was pink, and her lids were half shut. She looked dozy and dazed.

“I do good?” he asked.

A smile broke through her stupor. She nodded. “You did real good. You did perfect.”

Better than you’ve ever had it? A question whose answer was none of his business, though he hoped he could guess.

And he hoped for more than that.

He got his legs between hers, and tucked his forearms up against her ribs. Kissed her.

Excitement rolled through him, a fever sizzling in its wake. He kissed her neck, shifted so their bellies and hips pressed tight, so she could feel how bad he needed this. “Being inside you was all I could think about when I was doing that.”

“Me, too.”

Another flash of heat, and he groaned into her skin. His hips were already moving, stroking his cock along her *, his shorts dragging against her wetness, so f*cking hot. “I can’t wait.”

“Then don’t.”

He pushed up on straight arms and looked to the table, but she already had the condom in hand. As she opened it, Casey got his shorts off, knelt, primed himself with a light stroke—no need. He was as hard as sin, already wet himself. Her gaze took it all in with a hunger he hadn’t seen in those blue eyes before. Made him feel f*cking huge.

He took the condom from her and rolled it on. Fuck if that didn’t feel good in itself, after so long. The promise inherent in the cool caress of the latex.

His hand was shaking as he guided himself to her lips, every cell pulsing in time with his thumping heart. He eased into her with a single, slow push.

“Fuck, you feel incredible.” He could only shut his eyes, sink down on his elbows and press his face to her neck. It had been so long since he’d felt this. So long since he’d been invited here. And he’d wanted her for ages. “You’re so warm.”

She tensed. “I’m not . . . I know I’m not as . . . since the baby.”

He cut her off right there, propping himself up to hold her stare, and began to move, easing out, then back in a little deeper. “I’m not thinking about the things you’re not, honey. You’re warm,” he told her again. “And wet. You’re perfect. You’re the best thing I’ve felt in my whole goddamn life.”

She bit her lip, a smile dimpling her cheeks.

“And you’re gorgeous. You just tell me if anything doesn’t feel good.”

“Nothing.”

“Then tell me if anything feels amazing.” Whatever that might be, he do it again, again, a hundred thousand times until he felt her quaking beneath him.

Of course in reality, he had to doubt if he could last that long. Already the pleasure was mounting, tight and low, spurring him to go faster, deeper, harder. He held back, not ready for it to be over. He focused on the subtler sensations, like Abilene’s hands. They were soft, her palms cool on his ribs. Focused on her eyes and the way they moved up and down his body, curious and hot.

He groaned—louder than he meant to, then froze for a couple breaths, straining for a sign that he’d disturbed the baby. None came, and he eased back into the moment. Back into this beautiful woman.

“Can’t tell you how bad I’ve wanted this. And for how long.”

She stroked his arms with hungry hands. “Me, too.”

“Here.” He pulled out and moved to his side, urging her to do the same. He needed her face close, her mouth near enough to kiss. They scissored their legs and Casey got back inside her, shoving one arm beneath the pillow. God yes—that face, right here. He kissed her lightly as he found a good angle, held her thigh tight to his hip. Everything felt right. Nobody on top, the two of them on par. He slid his hand up her side beneath her shirt. As the top rode up, she seemed to curl in on herself, face pressing against his neck.

How she didn’t realize her body was exactly perfect, Casey couldn’t understand. All he could do was show her how he felt. “Take your shirt off. I’ve seen this,” he added softly, rubbing her belly through her tee. “I’ve done more than just see it.” He’d come on that soft skin yesterday.

After a moment’s hesitation, she’d worked the shirt up and off. She still had her bra on, and as much as Casey was dying to see her breasts, he didn’t press. He sealed their bodies close and drove deep, slowly, again and again. “You’re so f*cking soft,” he whispered.

Her mouth was at the base of his throat, words warm and private. “You aren’t.”

Casey chuckled, kissed her forehead. “No, I’m not. That’s what you do to me.” He held her ass, tugging her tight to him, and he pushed as deep as he could go. It was so good, he felt a groan roaring up from his chest. It took everything he had to hold it in. “Fuck. Kiss me, honey.”