Losing Track (Living Heartwood #2)(61)
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to wear jeans for a lap dance?”
I feel my forehead crease, but then I realize what she’s doing. She reaches beneath her to unsnap my jeans…but I unclench one of my hands and bring it forward, trapping her wrist. “If you do that, I will hate myself later.”
The severity in my tone must convince her, because she slowly moves her hand away, then places both hands on my shoulders. I release a pent-up breath and move my hand back behind me to its safe place.
“Okay,” she says, low, soft. “The friction kind of feels good, anyway.” Then she’s grinding hard against me, rocking her hips, f*cking hot as hell. Her tits bounce with her movements, and she grazes one of her nipples across my lips. The feel of her softness goes right to my throbbing cock.
Moving her head close to my ear, she leans into me, bearing all of her weight down as she rides me. Her heavy breaths caress my ear, and I shut my eyes. Just let this happen. And I can’t lie, she feels so damn good against my dick. It’s the worst and best kind of torture.
Against my will, my pelvis starts to thrust. Reaching up to meet her each time she comes down. As she picks up momentum, her breathing intensifies, making my dick pulse in time with my rapid heartbeats.
Her hips circle, again and again, and she presses her chest to mine, getting as close as she can. The fabric between us an annoying barrier as she moans. She removes a hand from my shoulder and reaches down to stroke herself, bring on her orgasm. I’m so f*cking tempted to touch her—do it for her. But I bite back the desire.
“Mel, f*ck…” I can feel her fingers working her clit. She’s working me right along, hitting my cock right at the sensitive part, and I can’t help it—I reach around and grab her hips. Force her down harder.
Her hot breath pants in my ear as her arm clings to my neck, her body pressed tightly against mine, while I clutch her, helping her get there.
“I can feel you,” she whispers. “I want you inside me so badly…deep inside, hitting that ache just right.”
A guttural roar rips from my throat, and I sink my face into the space between her shoulder and neck, surrounding myself with her heat and scent. My hands anchor her hard to me as I thrust up one final time and release right into my boxers.
The sensitive throb pulses from the head of my dick to my toes, radiating out, carrying the aftershock of my orgasm through my body like a tidal wave. And then Mel crashes all around me, breaking against me, as she bites down on her lip, her body seizing and contracting as she comes. I circle my arms around her, selfishly wanting to feel her come as close to me as possible.
Her head lightly rests on my shoulder, her breaths labored, the heat of them caressing my skin. “That was so ridiculously hot,” she pants out.
Despite the shock in my system, I smile. It was beyond hot. But I don’t know how to describe it, so I stay quiet. Listening to her breaths. I’m scared to move. To disturb the serenity of the moment.
I’m not sure if she’s feeling what I am. It’s more than sexual. More than just getting off together. It’s an openness, an honesty that, even without the heightened climax, I don’t think I’ll ever experience with anyone else. Ever.
That one thought stills me cold.
I close my eyes and inwardly curse. She’s high. Like through the roof. And anything she takes away from this night will be veiled by that realization.
When she leans back, her eyes seeking, probing, I say, “Don’t downplay this in the morning.”
She scrunches her nose. “What do mean? Dude, relax. Enjoy the brief moment of release. Finally.” She runs her fingers through my hair, then moves to sit next to me. “I’ve never done that before. Just got off like that. I’m not even…I don’t know what that was.”
This surprises me more than anything. “You mean I’m a first for something?”
She slaps my stomach playfully. “I’ll take that as a lapse in brain power due to sudden semen emission, and not like you were calling me a slut.”
“Whoa.” I turn toward her, painfully aware of the huge, wet wad in my boxers. “Trust me, you have nothing on me. I’d never say that. I just want…I don’t know. Shit. I really don’t think I’m allowed to want anything. And it’s torture.”
Her fingers lace with mine, and I can’t help but look down at them, and her bare thighs. I’m quickly getting turned on again, and really need to ask her to get dressed. But I don’t want her to. I want to carry her to the bedroom and crawl under the covers with her for the rest of the night.
“Darla was more than my best friend,” she says, erasing every thought from my mind. I’m suddenly attuned to her, waiting for her to give me any detail of herself. Wanting everything.
“She was my sister. Is my sister,” she continues. “Not blood related, or anything. But we were closer than that, even. And yes, I do blame myself for her death. Not directly. I’m smart enough to understand it was a f*cked up accident. But—” she closes her hand, holding on to mine tighter “—one thing Doc Sid said stayed with me. Dominos. I watched out for her, and I should have protected her better. I’d looked out for her since the first day we met, threatened her piece of shit father, even hit piece of shit guys over the head with beer bottles for her…but I couldn’t protect her from the domino effect I’d started for our lives. She suffered because of me. She’s gone because I couldn’t…”