Well Suited (Red Lipstick Coalition #4)(41)

Stopping the kiss was not an option, no matter how desperately I wanted her naked. Blindly, I unfastened the rest of the buttons, taking my time, teasing every inch of skin once it was exposed until the dress gaped open.

I shifted to stretch my body out next to hers, keeping her hips flat with the help of my thigh nestled between hers.

The touch was gentle, featherlight and teasing. The tip of my finger brushing the tip of her nipple. The slow trace of the curve of her breast. The sweeping line of her rib cage. The gentle swell of her stomach. The hollow of her belly button. Down my thirsty fingertips swept, down to the low flat of her stomach, which had once been soft and giving but now was firm, solid, a layer of protection.

Beyond that space, our baby resided.

It was the impetus to finally break the kiss.

My hand splayed there as my lips tasted her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her throat. Her hand slipped over mine, holding it there as I kissed her breasts, the curving shadow of her areolas peeking out of the delicate black hem. Down her breastbone, down the undeniably feminine curves of her stomach. Down to where our hands rested.

When I moved mine to replace it with my mouth, hers cupped my jaw, her touch delicate, intimate. It was emotion I felt in her fingertips, a physical connection to relay the connection of our hearts, of the life we’d created together.

It overwhelmed me in ways I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t fathom the depth of it all, the meaning, our future, our past. Who we were and who we would become.

If we should grow together or apart.

But I brushed the thought away. Because I’d known from the moment I first kissed her that this was it. She was it. It was irrational, illogical, and imperative. And that she was pregnant only solidified what I’d only had an impulse of on that night, that first night when everything changed.

She was mine, and I was hers. It was an undeniable fact.

I drew a long breath, one that mingled with the scent of her body, reminding me of the task at my very eager hand.

I cupped her sex, feeling the heat of her through the thin fabric, damp from her desire. The sensation set a hot pulse through me, to the place that wanted to delve into that heat until it was buried.

She was already impatient, wriggling out of her dress while keeping her hips consciously still so as not to deter me, unhooking her bra as I teased the threshold of her body, settling the length of my finger between her swollen lips, pressing my palm to her clit, squeezing to stroke her in both places with one motion.

She hummed, the sound strained and pleading, her free thigh opening up, silently asking me to take her, a request I’d grant.

Though not exactly how she wanted.

I shifted, moving until my torso was settled between her legs, her knees up and thighs resting against my shoulders. Her body was open to me, the line of her lips accentuated by her panties caught between them. I could see every part of her through the material, a map of her sex, the mound of her hood, the place I wanted to taste.

So I did.

Silky fabric against my tongue, the tang of her arresting my senses. Her body jerked from the pleasure of contact, a gasp filling her lungs and a sigh escaping them. Her thighs rested in the circle of my shoulders, my hands holding her hips, keeping her still when they wanted to move. But she didn’t fight it.

Because she trusted me, I realized. I’d earned the trust of the girl who trusted no one. That rigid girl was supple under my touch, the cool stone turned to molten rock, hot and pliant and filling whatever space could hold her.

In that moment, that space consisted of my arms.

I hooked her panties, holding them out of the way before descending again, this time to taste her without restraint. The tip of my tongue traced the rippling flesh of her body, drew the edge of her sex into my mouth, teased it until it was swollen and slick. She writhed, color rising in blooms across her chest, her neck, brow furrowed and eyes clenched shut.

So I let her go.

She moaned her frustration, sitting up faster than her languor should have allowed. Her hands captured my face, lips crashing against mine. My hands roamed to her hair, wanting it loose, but I couldn’t figure out how to let it down. Her fingers replaced mine, and so mine took the opportunity to relieve her of her panties completely.

When her hair was down and spilling across her naked shoulders, our hands exchanged places again—mine raking through the silky strands, hers unfastening my belt. We sat, twisted together, a mess of limbs and frantic hands.

She reached into my pants, closed her long fingers around my shaft, and stroked me.

A hiss escaped me as I curled around her, buried my face in her neck, my nose in the hollow behind her ear and lips closing over her fluttering pulse. With every stroke of her hand, I realized I was no longer the one teasing. Her free hand slipped my slacks over the curve of my ass, and when I shifted to press her into the bed, she stayed me, pushing back to keep me upright. Without discussion or influence, I knew what she was going to do, and though I wanted control, my body didn’t. My body wanted what she wanted, and what she wanted was me propped on my knees with my pants out of her way.

Off came my shirt in three buttons and a fling of fabric of my own accord—Katherine was busy, and I wanted to see everything without obstruction. She had moved to her hands and knees before me, eyes on my cock and hand still closed around my shaft. I watched the parting of her red, red lips, the pink of her tongue extending, the hot shock of her wet mouth when it grazed my crown, then swept it, then swallowed it.