Thick Love (Thin Love, #2)(79)

“Aly, ah, what are you doing to me?” he said when I continued to kiss down his stomach, nuzzling my nose against his hips, pulling that tight skin near his navel between my teeth. “God, oh…” Those low moans were like music, a desperate song I wanted to hear over and over again. And so it was his voice and the rhythm of his sighs, the touch of his tightening fingers in my hair that urged me forward.

I didn’t think his breath could quicken that much, that I could take his tight hold in my hair, but I did, loving how my mouth, my teeth and tongue seemed to work some kind of spell on him, but when I loosened the button of his jeans and freed that beautiful, long dick from his boxers, Ransom made a noise deeper than any of the others and his heaving breaths stilled, like he waited, anxious, desperate to see what I’d do next.

“God…oh God, Aly…I need…I need…”

“What do you need, Ransom? Tell me,” I said, holding just the tip in my mouth before I released him.

“I need you to touch me.” He moved my head up and when I looked at his eyes there was nothing holding him back. We were alone. “I need you to never stop touching me.”

And I didn’t, not for two straight minutes. Ransom was long and thick and glided perfectly between my lips, the tip of him hitting each ridge on the roof of my mouth, that beefy vein underneath pulsing against my tongue. I didn’t break away from him once, not when Ransom’s groan became a growl again, not when his hips came off my mattress, not when he came, flooded my mouth so hard that I thought his shout would rattle the windows of my tiny apartment.

Ransom was eighteen. Young. Virile. One orgasm did not keep him sated for long. I had barely laid next to him, smiling as he rolled against me, loving how tightly he held onto me, how his cheek on my stomach felt warm, his slowing breaths fanning against my hip. It was just a moment, a handful of minutes, then Ransom’s breath evened out and he kissed my bare skin.

“Aly…Aly…” he said rolling over me. He took my waist between his large hands, holding me underneath him as my name left his lips like a prayer against my skin.

I could touch him now, my hands over his back, my fingers against his forehead, pulling his face closer. “Don’t stop,” I said, when he moved his hand under my thighs to settle between my legs. “Keep going, please.”

I wondered what was written on my face, if that thrill of anticipation, of hope was as plain to him as the craving that surely was in mine. Whatever he saw, Ransom hesitated and for a second I was scared he’d back away.

“Ransom…” I started, keeping my fingers against his face. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to keep from touching him.

“You sure about this? You want all of me?”

“Oh, sugar, every inch you’ve got.”

The quick smile left Ransom’s face, though he still nodded, like he needed me to know he understood. I held my breath, not sure I’d remember to exhale as he lifted his hand and let one fingertip smooth over my bottom lip. “You, Aly…shit, you could tempt a saint just with a blink of those big eyes.”

A small sigh and my breathing settled. “No,” I said, moving a half smile onto my mouth. “Saints don’t like sinners and I’ve got a full tally of sins.” It was true. I couldn’t count the times I’d wished that Emily had never existed just to keep that constant frown from Ransom’s face. I didn’t think there were prayers loud enough to absolve me.

“You? Never.” Ransom shook his head, moving closer to graze a slow, wet kiss on my mouth. “No one this sweet, with a heart this big could be a sinner.” I licked my lips, loving how Ransom watched the movement. “Besides,” he said, his eyes moving up, “saints love sinners the most. They’re a hell of a lot more fun to try to save.”

Ransom was everywhere just then, filling up all the spots left gaping, those worn, aching vacancies in my heart that loneliness and neglect had cut into me. No, I couldn’t be what he’d lost. And he couldn’t be the person to make me whole, but right then, on my Target sheets in that tiny loft apartment, we would take what we needed from each other; the first step in the long trek across the trench of loss and grief.

“I don’t care about the saints, Ransom.” My legs felt heavy when I moved them so that I spread open to him, loving how his eyebrows dipped together at the brush of skin on skin. “And I’ll never ask for forgiveness for wanting you.”

He moved his forehead against mine and his arms shook as he hovered above me. When he spoke, his gaze was serious, focused. “Please don’t ask me for things I can’t give you.” There was a little regret, a hint of fear in his tone.

“I won’t,” I said, wishing my fingertips would clear away those worried lines in his forehead.

“Please don’t think…” Ransom took a breath, grabbing my chin before he brushed his lips over mine, “If I could, if I was able, God, Aly, I’d give you everything.”

A single look from Ransom could make my stomach tighten and my chest constrict. Those words from him, the look on his face telling me he meant them, made me fall deeper, had me lost further in what I felt for him. But he didn’t need me saying that. He asked for one moment when I wanted all of them. I’d take it.

“Today, I just want this.”

His arms did not stop shaking and the worry, the quick breath from his mouth only grew heavier as he watched me. “I haven’t done this in a while and then only with…”