| |
HAPPY FLUTTERS SPREAD through Vivian, and it was a struggle to keep the elation from her face. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear this. How desperate she was for these words, from him. She felt guilty he’d quit his job, but he sounded certain, and she believed him when he said it was what he wanted. She finally met his gaze again, and asked in a quiet voice, “You’re not just saying that?”
“What kind of sadistic fuck do you think I am?”
“Really?” She raised her brows, and her smile slipped out.
“Maybe wait to answer that until we get back to your place.”
“I love you too.” She closed the last few inches between them and brushed her lips across his.
He grabbed her wrists, gripping until it hurt, and held her close. “Tease.”
“Yup.” She didn’t try to pull away. The possession in his grip tantalized and enticed, and heated her from the inside out. “But we’re not doing this on their front porch.”
He dipped his head, so his lips were next to her ear, and whispered, “Some of the neighbors might like that.”
“Probably.” She tugged, not to get away, but to urge him toward the driveway. “You’re driving this time. I’ll grab my car later.”
“Tate’s not going to ask questions if you leave it here?”
“He’s not stupid. He knows what’s going on, at least on a vague level.” She slid into the passenger seat when Damon held the door for her. He closed her in and hurried to the driver’s side. She continued, as he started the car. “I haven’t told them everything, but they see a lot.”
“I get that from them. And even though they’re your best friends, they’re not who I want to talk about right now.” He backed the car onto the road, tossed it into drive, and headed toward her condo.
She leaned back in the seat, feeling relaxed inside her own head for the first time in ages, without the haze of alcohol or the rush of endorphins.
He rested a hand on her knee, palm searing her even through slacks. “I’m guessing it’s my fault you’re wearing slacks instead of a skirt?”
“It is.”
“So you came here straight from work?”
She covered his hand and slid it higher on her thigh. “I haven’t come anywhere since Saturday night.”
He trailed his fingers along the inside of her leg, lightly enough to tease but with enough pressure to keep from tickling. “The thing that sucks about this is we’re stuck in traffic. I’m glad you don’t live too far away.”
“I didn’t mean to imply anything.” This was amazing. They had time. They could play or be rough. Span every inch of the spectrum. “We’re talking when we get home, not fucking.”
“We’re talking now. You’re going to be too hoarse to say much of anything in a few hours.”
“That’s a big promise.” She’d pay for the taunt. She was counting on it. “I’m going to be disappointed if you can’t deliver.” When he glanced sideways at her, she stuck out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout.
He moved his hand back to his side of the car. “That’s a lot of pressure. I don’t know if I can live up to it. Maybe talking is a better idea.” His tone stayed firm and confident despite the words, and he kept his attention trained on the road.
Concession wasn’t the kind of punishment she had in mind. She could yield now, or push her luck and his limits. Fuck it. She’d yield later, either way. She undid the first two buttons on her blouse. “I can show you how to start, if you like.”
He grabbed her wrist, digging his fingers into the skin and sending spikes of temptation through her. His voice was rough. “I’d definitely like, but not now. Don’t touch yourself until I say so.”
“Or what?”
He shot her a smirk. “Or you won’t like the consequences.”
“Are you going to discipline me?” she asked, hope sliding into her voice.
“Nope. I won’t lay a finger on you.”
She laughed and settled back in her seat. “God, you’re a cruel bastard.”
“And you love it.”
She did. Every minute of it. Every second spent with him. It almost felt as if fourteen years melted away over the last seven days. It wouldn’t be quite that easy, but they’d make it work. She had no doubt.
“You know, I would rather talk about your friends. How are they? How's the baby?”
He was being facetious, but the question brought a new kind of joy to the surface. A reminder of the news she'd wanted to share with everyone, before he distracted her. “They asked me to be the baby's godmother.”
“That's fantastic.” Damon's joy sounded like it matched hers. “I can't think of anyone better to spoil a kid rotten.”
“You'll have to help.” She didn't know where the comment came from. A frantic confession of love on someone else's front porch wasn't quite a promise to always be there. Except she had a feeling, in their case, it was. They had time to talk all that through, too.
He rested a hand on her leg again and squeezed. “Damn straight, I'll help.”
*
IT WAS HARDER THAN Damon expected to keep from pulling the car over and finding them a quiet spot, to fuck the hell out of Vivian, rather than finishing the drive to her place. Especially when the conversation shifted back to flirting.
After what felt like an eternity but was really only twenty minutes, they arrived. He felt like a giddy kid, intertwining his fingers with hers and fidgeting on the elevator ride up. Temptation surged inside, to press her against the wall and kiss her until he could think again. Once he started though, he wouldn't want to stop.
They finally made it inside her place and set their shoes by the front door. His cock was painfully rigid, straining against his jeans. He had a feeling that would be status quo around Vivian for a while. He pointed her toward the room she'd turned into a dance studio, and she hesitated.
He kissed up her neck and murmured against her skin, “Trust me.”
“I do.” She didn’t resist this time, when he nudged her into the room and stopped her in the center, so she faced a wall covered in mirrors.
He circled his arms around her waist. “I want you to watch. No closing your eyes. I want you to see what I see when you're aroused. How gorgeous you are when you come.”
She met his gaze in the mirror, uncertainty in her eyes. “I don't think it's going to do the same thing for me it does for you.”
“No?” As he spoke, he unbuttoned her shirt. “But you get a thrill from stripping.”
“That's different.”
“And I think you'll like doing something different.” He peeled her blouse off and set it aside, before forcing her attention back to their reflections. “Don't look away.” He settled his palms on her stomach, then glided up, barely touching her skin and skimming her bra. The slight parting of her lips indicated she was enjoying this as much as he was. It wasn’t that he wanted to see himself. The flush that spread across Vivian’s cheeks—darkening as she grew more aroused—the way she licked her lips unconsciously, and the squirm of her body against his were the most beautiful sights he could think of.
She inhaled sharply when he brushed her nipples. He continued moving, following the curve of her torso in a fluid motion, down her back and to her hips. He kept his gaze trained on the reflection of hers, as he undid her slacks and let them drop to the ground, to pool around her ankles. Every time she gasped or whimpered, his body reacted. Tightening. Wanting more of her.
He had to pull his attention from the glass, to inspect his handiwork from Saturday night. Red marks peeked out from the edges of lace panties and trailed down the back of her legs, lashes already fading but not so much he couldn’t tell exactly what they were. He drew his finger under the edge of the elastic, along her ass. “So gorgeous.” He kissed along her shoulder, inhaling her sweet, intoxicating scent.
She pressed back into his touch with a sigh. “Pleased with yourself?”
“Only when you’re my canvas. Kick your pants out of the way.”
She followed the command, leaning more of her weight against him in the process and not moving away when she had her balance again.
“Keep watching.” He skated his hands back up to her breasts and caressed the full mounds through the fabric. The coarse lace teased his fingertips, and his nerve endings sprang to life.
When he increased the pressure, squeezing clothing and flesh, she gasped and leaned into his touch. Her gaze stayed on the mirror. She bit her bottom lip hard enough for her teeth to leave a pale impression. Her reactions increased his need. She ground her ass against his jeans, digging denim into his hard, desperate cock, and he groaned. Anticipation clawed through him, and he forced himself to slow down. To think.
Okay, not really think so much. All the blood had already drained from his head. But at least to make sure she enjoyed herself. He focused his attention on her breasts for several minutes, pinching until she whimpered and then easing off when she drew in short gasps for air.
“You make the most intoxicating sounds.” He nipped at her neck.
“Only with you.”
“You’re not begging tonight.”
“Not yet.” She nodded at the mirror. “I’m enjoying the show.”
Her resolve was stronger than his right now. He appreciated the image in front of them, but it had the opposite effect of curbing his desire. “Dip your fingers in your pussy”— his voice brooked no argument—“then taste yourself.”
In the glass and in front of him, manicured nails scraped down her smooth skin, and vanished beneath the waist of her lingerie. She gasped and arced her back when she parted her folds, and she slid her hand up and down, stroking herself.
He grabbed her wrist and let out a strained chuckle. “Soon.”
She pouted, brought her fingers to her lips, and licked each one methodically before moving to the next.
“Stop posing, and appreciate the moment,” he warned.
“You told me it was like stripping.”
“I told you it was different.” He covered her hand with his and guided it down. “Watch. Enjoy.” With both their fingers, he sought out her slit, pressing the fabric of her panties as they stroked.
She squirmed under his touch, and his pulse roared with need. He shoved their fingers to her clit, rubbing and stroking in time with her thrusting hips. If she bumped his cock much faster, he was going to come. He bit back the impulse, and massaged her button harder.
Her soft cries and the way she writhed under his touch told him she was close.
He kissed the edge of her ear and whispered, “Lose yourself in it.”
She closed her eyes and leaned back her head, mouth open in a silent scream, as she came, bucking against their hands, her legs tightening and then wobbling.
He helped her turn to face him. The scents of sex, floor wax, and her shampoo dove into his mind and purged any remaining thoughts beyond instinct. He knotted his hand in her hair and crushed his mouth to hers. Her soft lips against his sparked his hunger. The need to be in her. A part of her.
Barely aware of their surroundings, he half-guided her back, half-stumbled along with her, to a waist-high cabinet against the wall. He was done with the mirror. He wanted to watch her. Experience as much of her as possible. He jerked his jeans open, possibly breaking the zipper. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. His cock was swollen and purple with need. It jerked against his hand.
She scooted onto the cabinet and hooked her legs around his waist. “Fuck me hard, baby.” Pleading filled her words.
Yes. Hard. Fast. Unrelenting. That was what he needed. He positioned the head of his dick at her opening and thrust inside her. The tight seal sucked him deeper, and his head swam. Only the most primitive noises made sense. Her moans of pleasure. His grunting. The creak of furniture, as he slammed against her again. And again.
Her face blossomed in that amazing expression again—the bliss of climax. Flushed. Breathing heavily. Lost in her own world. She clenched around him when she came, squeezing and coaxing. He tightened his fingers on her hips, not daring to let go. Not sure he could. Thrust. God she felt good. Thrust. He wouldn’t last much longer. Thrust. Were those stars in his vision? Thrust. He growled as he came, spilling inside her. Still unable to stop. He pounded until he was spent, and she sank into him, breathless.
“I’m so glad you tracked me down this evening.” Her voice wavered with exhaustion.
“Me too, Vi.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m so grateful you heard me out.” And maybe once they fed this intense need to be a part of each other a few more times, they’d ease off and spend more time out doing things.
Though honestly, he hoped for many more weekends of fooling around in the shower, watching bad movies dressed in next to nothing, and ordering takeout. They had time, though. For the first time in over a decade, he felt like they had time.