Burn It Up(68)

She nodded, all at once flushed and breathless. She’d never been touched like this, with such patience and reverence and curiosity. Her pleasure wasn’t lost on him. He lowered, coming closer, bracing himself on one arm and casting her in a thrilling shadow. She could feel the heat coming off him in waves and memorized the flex of his arm as he touched her, the expression on his face, the promise of his ready cock.

“Could you . . . You know, inside me,” she mumbled. A clumsy sort of request, but the fact that she was directing at all was miraculous.

“With my fingers?”

“Yeah.”

He gave her two, slow and smooth, and her mouth dropped open.

He studied her face as his fingers worked, lust blazing in those blue eyes. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“Just about how good that feels.”

He added his ring finger, the penetration changing, heightening. His name fell from her lips.

“You want me to make you come?”

And she knew he could. Knew it as a natural fact. But she wasn’t ready for this hunger to be over. She wanted to still be feeling all of this as he sank inside her. “Not this way, not yet. I want to feel you, first.”

His hand slowed, then withdrew, and he knelt beside her. “C’mon.” He urged her to him by the waist. One of his hands was slippery, the detail feeling dirty and exciting and new. She came close to straddle his hips, lifted up, and he held his cock steady as she eased down.

“Oh.” The sensation was potent, this way. Obscene and a little intimidating, with her on top, and the friction all smoothed away.

“All right?”

“Yeah.” She found the right angle, and with a slow, steady push she was seated tight against him. She could feel him inside, thrumming faintly.

“Christ.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Her collarbone was at his mouth, and he kissed her there, humming a hungry breath.

“You feel good,” she said, starting to move. Her hips felt stiff, out of practice, but the motions were exciting. Something in the way her muscles flexed deepened the sensations inside, doubled them. Casey held those hips. His gaze was nailed between them, right at that explicit point of contact.

“Do whatever feels good,” he murmured, sounding hypnotized. “Whatever you want from me.”

She’d never come on top, but was eager to experiment. In time she found an angle that brushed her clit against the base of his cock when she eased forward and back, taunting with a tease of hair and the lip of the condom. The friction flared, urged her with a hit of heat and a tightening of her sex. She kept at it, and with each roll of her hips, she felt the pleasure drawing deeper, warmer, more urgent.

Casey moaned. He seemed to have noticed her fixation, and she nearly abandoned it, feeling self-conscious. But he held her hips tighter, locking them into those short, taut little strokes. They couldn’t feel like much to him, but her excitement must. And she couldn’t deny how good it was, how wild it felt, chasing the mounting pleasure.

Inside her he felt sinful, thick and hard, yet somehow patient, like he could do this forever, just be what she needed. And isn’t he? Isn’t he exactly what I need? In too many ways to ponder without losing track of her emotions.

One of his hands drifted higher, tickling her belly, her ribs, then cupping her breast. It was rough, but not scratchy, and he eased her into the touch, merely holding her first, letting the shock of it dull. In time he drew his palm up and down softly, stiffening her nipple and leaving her breath short. Her eyes closed and she moaned, every ounce of simmering pleasure doubling. Next came his thumb. He didn’t tweak—she’d never liked tweaking—but ran it back and forth, back and forth, such perfect friction she felt an orgasm solidifying, growing heavy and hot inside her.

“Casey.”

“What do you need?”

“This. Just this.” She needed nothing except to keep going, and inside a minute, it came—that scary-hot rush, the desperate crest, the quenching plunge on the other side.

He stroked her cheeks and her hair, smiling as she came down, looking what could only be described as besotted. His complexion gave away his own excitement, his flushed skin not matching his patient, bemused expression.

“Wow,” she huffed, slumping bonelessly into him.

“Wow is good. I’ll take wow.”

“Now show me.” She righted herself, energy kicking back up. “Show me what you want.”

“Move like you were.”

She did, taking him in those tight little motions, on now-achy hips.

“Good. Now make it a little longer.”

She lengthened the strokes, claiming nearly the full length of him with each push. He groaned against her shoulder, kissed her there, bit softly, swore. “Just like that. Exactly like that.”

She didn’t think she’d ever felt this way, taking orders from a guy. She’d been eager to please, or intimidated, or plain old obedient, but never this. Never so . . . powerful. Her muscles stiffened as she made the strokes a little quicker, a little rougher, and he was panting now, breath huffing like steam at her throat.

“Fuck, please.” His hands were on her butt, riding the motions, not rushing them. Not forcing or even urging. He was taking what she gave, and excitedly. She excited him. That thought alone had her body racing with his.