Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)(69)

“Listen,” I tell him. The defiant boy leaves his eyes, and the man stills as he listens to his own heartbeat.

“Now listen here.” I take his other hand and put it over my own heart. His touch sends tremors along my spine but I don’t move.

Our heartbeats spike under our hands in harmony, and then our lungs fall in sync too. At that precise moment, I reach on my tiptoes for his lips and kiss him.

His shoulders relax under my touch, and now I know why. His lips start moving with mine. Light and hesitant, like questions. I answer them as best I can. Then his kiss changes. His hands fly to my face. I press myself against him, fisting my fingers in his hair. He responds so forcefully that we stagger across the room until I feel the wall at my back. His hips pin me against it. My feet leave the ground as his kiss literally sweeps me off my feet.

I bite his lip like the taste of his mouth is not enough. He lifts me and wraps my legs around his waist. His erection finds its spot and presses against me.

“You will not make this easy, will you?” he asks, his breathing harsh. His eyes are scorching.

I shake my head.

“Ceasefire,” he says and kisses me hard.





Chapter Thirty-Two





Boy, Man, God


I flex my thighs to bring him closer. He moans. My dress has bunched up on my hips and the thin layer of my knickers is not enough to block him. He starts grinding against me and rolling his hips slowly. He brings his lips to my ear. His words start. Different words. Not hard, not dirty. Loving. Between each whispered word, he nibbles, kisses, bites and grinds.

“I missed you… I missed the way you smell…the way you moan. Speak up, baby… I love the way you say my name. Don’t ever call me Mr. Hale again. I hate it… Yes, like that… It sounds good when you say it… I love the way you look when you’re about to come. Eyes open. Look at me… What do you want? Tell me… No, not yet. This one is for you. Only you… I know, I know… Here, shh. I’ll take over.”

He picks up his tempo against my knickers. The throbbing increases with each grind until the tension in my body becomes unbearable. Every muscle flexes and snaps. My insides convulse violently and I soar.

When I float back to earth, the only thought I can form is extraordinary. I open my eyes. He looks triumphant as always but his jaw is locked and his fingers dig into my buttocks. The sight is both predatory and hunted. I realize now that he stopped himself from coming. This was all mine.

“Where is your room?” he says, kissing along my jaw. I don’t have the power of speech back so I point behind him across the living room. He strides there, with me wrapped around him, his tongue speaking with strokes now instead of words. My body, already sensitized, inflates again.

In my room, he leans me against the closed door and lowers me to the floor. When my feet touch the ground, he steps back. He doesn’t look anywhere else but at me. He takes off all his clothes except his trousers. I stare at him, apple-and-Eve again. With one step, he closes the distance and lowers his mouth to my ear.

“You get more beautiful by the hour. Even my memory can’t do you justice.”

His hands roam my body and trail up along my spine. He finds the zipper there and lowers it slowly. The nail of his thumb grazes my spine as my dress comes undone. He caresses my back and slides the dress off my shoulders. As my skin is exposed, he kisses it. His lips are hot, his breath fire.

In one move, my bra and knickers come off. He runs his thumb over my lips and, like the first time he did this, I have an urge to taste him. I part my mouth and he pushes his thumb inside. He tastes like nothing and yet, like everything. He repeats the process with his index and middle fingers, then with his other hand. The gesture is so erotic that the buzz in my body becomes tangible.

Wet now, his hands mold my breasts. He is gentle at first, then rougher and, finally, I feel the delicious pinch that I have started to know well. I lean against the door as my weight becomes too heavy. His mouth closes around my nipple. Slow strokes of his tongue change to bites and back again in a heavenly pattern. He moves not like my body is the end, but like it is the beginning.

I see my own end on the horizon and fist my hands in his hair, afraid I’ll collapse. My thighs flex and at that moment, he slides his fingers inside me. His thumb circles and presses hard on the center. It’s instant. The buildup of his words, the fingers and the aftershocks of the first orgasm peak again and I start convulsing. He doesn’t stop. His mouth joins his fingers. Around and around. Flicks, licks, blows, strokes. In. Out. Over and over again. I’m lost in my own body. It feels like my heart is between my legs and my lungs are in my mouth. I could be screaming or I could be crying. I have one orgasm. Two. Three. All mine. I don’t know from where. My last thought is that he still has not allowed himself release. Then I disappear.

When I resurface, I’m surprised to see that I’m still upright. Sort of. Somehow, my legs are both over his shoulders and he kisses the inside of my thigh. It twitches under his lips. He smiles, untangles himself from my legs and sets my feet on the floor. He rises with fluid grace and does not seem bothered at all by the fact that for the last—how long have we been doing this anyway?—he has supported my entire weight with his arms and shoulders. I ogle his muscles that twitch a little, no doubt because of the trouble in his trousers, which have expanded to unusual proportions.