Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(126)
Her lips widened into a relieved smile as her shoulders relaxed. “Me too.”
“But that’s all I’m keepin’ on,” he warned her.
She lifted her eyebrows, all sweet and sassy. “Me too.”
Fuuuuuuuck.
He turned the key in the ignition, and f*ck if his cock and his foot weren’t suddenly made of lead at the exact same time.
Chapter 31
When she walked into the office at Wolfram’s Motorcycles on Tuesday morning, a massive bouquet of wildflowers was waiting for her on the desk. Cain looked up from his laptop, waiting for her, his eyes hot and liquid.
“Close the door and lock it.”
She blinked, her breath catching, and her panties flooded with wet warmth.
She pushed the door closed and turned the lock. As soon as it clicked shut, she felt the heat of his body behind her, watched his hands slap the wood of the door, landing flat on either side of her head, caging her in. She inhaled sharply when she felt the bulge behind his jeans grind into her ass, but turned around slowly so that her breasts purposely raked across the hard planes of his chest.
“I missed you,” he said, pressing her against the back of the door with his body and slamming his lips into hers.
They’d made out all weekend, but Cain had been as good as his word, keeping his jeans on the whole time, though he’d been so swollen and hard behind the zipper, she was fairly sure she would have seen teeth marks on his cock given the chance. She had also kept her jeans on, though her shirt, like his, had come off, and he’d spent the weekend proving to her that it was possible to orgasm from having your breasts loved, which was something she’d never known before. Something that made her nipples bead with anticipation now.
His tongue, so skilled in making her boneless and pliant, swept into her mouth like he owned it, and the thing is, he did. He owned just about whatever part of her he cared to claim, and she was almost out of the strength it would take to make him wait much longer to take everything.
Hands.
Over the weekend she’d learned that his hands were warm but coarse, chapped and dry, the rough texture wringing more pleasure from her sensitive, silky skin than they would if they were soft like hers.
He ran his hands from her throat, slowly and deliberately over her breasts, to the hem of her sweater, slipping underneath it to land on the bare skin of her waist. While his tongue savaged her mouth, his hands met on her back, his fingers unfastening her bra with a practiced flick, and she raised her arms without being asked so he could pull off her sweater and toss it, along with the bra, on the floor.
“Ginger,” he groaned, wedging his knee between her legs and dropping his lips to her nipple. “A day away from you is too long . . .”
“Ahh,” she whimpered as he latched onto the erect bud, sucking it into his mouth and rolling it between his upper lip and tongue. “Caaaaaaain . . .”
“You taste like sugar, darlin’. You make me crazy.”
As he laved his tongue over the slick nub, he cupped her cheek and slipped his thumb into her mouth, and she sucked it eagerly, imitating the pressure he used on her nipple and finally releasing it with a pop.
He dropped the glistening digit to her already slick and distended nipple, circling it slowly as he circled the other with the tip of his tongue. Maddeningly slow, his tongue traced her areola, and she arched her back, desperate for him to take her nipple between his lips and suck. Just when she thought she might go crazy, he licked the hard bud, then blew on it softly, and she cried out, not quite in orgasm, but because the sensation was so strong and so good and so frustratingly not enough. Her hunger was increasing. What had made her come on Sunday wasn’t enough on Tuesday.
“Cain,” she whimpered as he flicked his thumb over her nipple. “I need . . . I need more . . .”
“I know, baby,” he said, dropping one hand to the button of her jeans and twisting it open with his fingers. He flattened his hand over the zipper and murmured close to her ear, “Weekend’s over. Are you okay with the jeans comin’ off? If you want me to stop, say stop.”
She was wet and aching, and her jeans were going to have to come off to relieve the pitch of her desire.
“Don’t stop.”
“I’m goin’ to love you with my tongue, baby.”
“Oh, my God . . .”
“You’ve done this?”
“N-no, but I need you.”
“You’re sure, baby?”
“Cain, please.”
Her breathing quickened to a pant as he dropped his hand, releasing the fullness of her breast, and fell to his knees before her. He yanked her jeans and panties to her knees, then cupped her ass and jerked her forward, keeping her back braced against the door as he pulled her legs over his shoulders. She let her hands slip over her damp, erect nipples, over the soft skin of her stomach, and reached down to part the folds of her sex with her fingers. Cain leaned forward, and Ginger’s head fell back against the office door as his tongue licked her clit in one long, slow stroke.
“Ohhh,” she moaned, the sound like dying, like crying, like shock and surprise and heaven.
With her hands on either side of his head, she guided him gently back and forth, up and down, his tongue brushing against her with increasing pressure as his fingers kneaded her ass, pushing her sex into his face and then letting her slide away.