The Heart Principle (The Kiss Quotient #3)(62)
He laughs as he kisses me, and I feel his smile on my smile. I wrap my arms around him, wondering how I don’t light up the room when I glow like this.
He moves between my legs with a slow sinuous movement of his hips, pulling away and returning to me like waves on the seashore. It’s so sexy that I wish the lights were on. I want to see him moving against me. I can’t help arching into the motion, claiming as much of him as I can. I’ll never orgasm this way, but my body craves what it craves. It craves him.
Our position changes slightly as he urges me onto my back and captures one of my hands. I don’t understand what he wants until he eases it between our hips and whispers, “Make it feel good, Anna.”
Unease threads through me. I can’t shake the feeling that it’s wrong. I hide my face against his neck, saying his name in protest.
“So I’m not alone,” he says, and there’s such stark vulnerability in his voice that I can’t deny him. He matters more to me than the voices in my head.
Here in the safety of his arms, here in the dark, I touch myself. And I cry out as I tighten around him.
“Just like that,” he whispers, kissing my temple, sucking on my ear, biting my neck, licking the sting away.
I do it again, touching myself exactly the way I need, and I can’t help the sound that rises from my throat. Pleasure concentrates low and sharp, irresistible.
“More,” he encourages me, moving inside me now, retreating and returning with gaining momentum.
I can’t stop. Perhaps this is what I’ve always needed without really knowing it, to love myself without shame and without reservation.
He praises me with dark words, tells me he’s proud of me, tells me what I’m doing to him. He asks me if it’s good, when he has to know. I’m crying out nonstop as I climb higher and higher, lifting my hips to meet his every thrust, clenching down uncontrollably.
“Are you with me?” he asks in between ragged breaths. “I’m close. I don’t know if—”
I pull his head down so I can kiss him, and he groans and kisses me back. Grasping my ass with both hands, he pulls me closer as he drives into me faster. It’s that touch of desperation in his actions that ruins me.
All my muscles contract as I stiffen, arching into him. At the same time, I feel myself opening wider, getting softer, trembling. I want to tell him that I’m with him, I want to tell him what’s happening, but all I can say is his name.
I call out his name as I reach the pinnacle. I call out his name as I convulse around him, raw repleted sounds trilling from my lips. I call out his name as I’m completely undone.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Quan
THERE IS NOTHING BETTER THAN ANNA COMING APART around me, crying my name over and over again. Nothing in the whole world.
She tries to kiss me, to move with me, but her convulsions are too strong. She’s lost all coordination, and I fucking love that.
I’m right on the edge, but I hold back and slow down so I can draw this out. I’m going to be the best she’s ever had. I need that. She’s never, ever going to forget tonight.
When her tight grip on my cock relaxes and she sighs and withdraws her hand from between us, I force myself to stop. Gritting my teeth, I pull free of the warm clasp of her body and turn her around onto her knees. My name is a question on her lips, and I reassure her with kisses on her neck, her shoulder. I run my palm up and down her back before tilting her hips upward, positioning myself at her entrance, and pushing slowly into her.
The feel of her taking me inch by inch, the sound of her soft moans, is almost more than I can take, and against all odds, I harden further. Sensation courses over my scalp and down my spine, and everything that I am concentrates low, clamors to rush into her. It’s pure desperation, pure need, but I refuse to give in. I follow her arm down to her hand and press it between her legs as I kiss her neck, silently demanding she touch herself.
“I don’t know if I can,” she says. “I already—”
“Just try it?” I whisper, smoothing my hands along her sides, massaging the curves of her perfect ass as I fight the urge to move. “If it’s too much, stop.”
The slippery sound of her fingers flickering over her clit reaches my ears at the same time that she gasps and locks down on my cock, making my abs clench and my hips jerk involuntarily. It feels so fucking good that I can’t resist drawing back and repeating the motion.
“Is it too much?” I ask. I try to hold still, but my hips move without my permission, stroking into her with a steady rhythm.
“No,” she says, her voice pitched high with urgency.
She rocks back sharply, meeting each of my thrusts, and our bodies slap together loudly as her cries come faster and faster. When she reaches for me and kisses me over her shoulder with wild sweeps of her tongue, moaning against my mouth with every breath, I know she’s close, and it gives me the deepest sense of satisfaction.
I cover her tits with my palms and tweak the tight points of her nipples, and her body tenses like she’s been struck by lightning. Her breath tears. She trembles in my arms, drawn so tight she’s a hairsbreadth from breaking. I keep kissing her, keep teasing her nipples, keep stroking my cock into her relentlessly, because that’s what you do when something’s working—you keep doing it. I keep doing it until I’m nearly delirious with the need to come.