Nova
One second, he’s stalking me like a tiger, tracking me through the jungle and readying to pounce when I least suspect it.
The next, he’s laughing and it’s fucking beautiful—a deep rough sound that seems to bounce around the room, that settles over me like one of those thick blankets he tucked over my sleeping body the night before.
I get the sense that he’s not a man who laughs very often.
But him giving that to me…
I am arrested, frozen in place because it’s the most astonishing and bewitching thing I’ve ever heard and seen.
His smile is wide and free. His skin crinkles at the corners of his eyes. The strong cords of his throat stand out in sharp relief. His laughter is equal parts velvet and sandpaper—gentle brushes over my skin that relax me but also rough sweeps that prickle my nerves, sending me to rigid attention.
I didn’t know laughter could be a gift.
But from Lake it is.
Especially as he turns to face me fully, hazel eyes sparking with humor. He’s so close now that I can see his pupils have dilated, can see the individual strands of hair in the stubble on his cheeks—
Then I can’t see anything.
Because his arm is banding around my middle, bringing my body flush to his.
All of the air in my lungs escapes me in a rush…and then he’s breathing for me, or maybe I don’t need to breathe, maybe I don’t need to think, maybe I don’t need—
Anything but this man’s lips on mine, soft and yet firm as he parts mine, sliding his tongue inside my mouth in such a skillful move that I quickly forget my name, where I’m at, the shitty circumstances that have brought me to these mountains. I quickly forget everything aside from how his hands feel on my body, his lips on mine, the sleek darts of his tongue.
The man can kiss.
Confidently. Without mercy.
One movement brings me even closer. Another has my feet dangling in the air. A third has my ass hitting the counter, knocking Steve’s bowl to the floor.
It lands with a distant clatter and I hear Steve’s nails as he rushes toward it—and no doubt the mess we’ve just made—but even that noise doesn’t fully snap me out of my stupor. For one, Steve’s a great vacuum. For another, Lake has sunk his fingers into my hair, is tilting my head back, his lips releasing mine and moving along my jaw, down my throat. He nudges the neck of my sweatshirt to the side, nips at my collarbone, laves his tongue into the divot at the top of my chest.
I shiver and his lips are back on mine, kissing me into oblivion, kissing me without mercy, kissing me so that the only thing I can do is feel.
His other hand goes to my hip, drawing me forward, settling my ass on the edge of the countertop. That hand slips from my waist and beneath my sweatshirt, beneath the T-shirt I have on under it, and the first brush of his warm, rough fingers on my skin makes me gasp, electricity surging through my nerves, moisture gathering between my legs, desire a fire burning out of control in my belly.
Then those fingers keep moving, sliding and shifting until his palm has gone flat on my side, until it starts to sweep its way up.
Yes.
This I like.
This is what I want.
Especially when there isn’t any hesitation in his kiss as his hand continues to move and his lips and tongue don’t stop and his fingertips reach the elastic band of my bralette…
And he brushes his thumb along the bottom curve of my breast.
Sensation sparks through me, my pussy getting wetter, my thighs clamping together—or trying to, anyway. Because I’m blocked by a narrow waist and strong legs and a man who’s slowly lowering me back onto the countertop.
I lose his mouth, but I gain another hand, this one shoving up my hoodie and T-shirt, exposing me to his heated hazel eyes. The counter is cold as fuck beneath my now naked back, but that flashes through my mind and is gone in the next second. Because he grips the elastic band of my bralette, tugs it up with one sharp movement and—
“Fuck,” he growls as my breasts pop free.
I’m on the thinner side, I’ve always been—first because there wasn’t much food growing up, and then because I got used to being hungry. Now it’s mostly because I’m on my feet all day for work and often forget to eat.
But I have boobs, always have, the pesky things getting in the way when I want to run or reach for something in my opposite pocket or just want a shirt to fit correctly. Bringing far too much attention I didn’t want at too young an age. A heavy weight that makes my shoulders ache.
Basically, they’re a pain in the ass.
But seeing the way Lake looks at them makes me thankful for them for the first time ever.
Then he cups one—and I forget all the inconveniences, all the pain, all the discomfort and things I didn’t want.
Because his touch brings me pleasure.
More pleasure than I’ve ever known as his pointer finger circles my nipple, closer, closer, tighter and tighter, the tip hardening, begging for touch…which he doesn’t give.
Not until he bends forward, lips parting, mouth closing over one taut bud, forefinger and thumb pinching gently around the other, rolling back and forth, back and forth. The combination of tongue and lips, teeth and fingers has me crying out, arching against him, thighs tightening around his waist, reaching for something that I haven’t ever experienced with another human.
With my vibrating friend? Definitely.
Multiple times.
With a man who’s taking charge of my body like he knows it better than I do?
Never.
“Lake!” I cry, as he rubs his beard over my sensitive flesh, my fingers diving into his hair, the silken locks skating over my fingers.
He grunts, and I realize I’m tugging, immediately loosening my grip. “Not you,” he says around me, eyes meeting mine when I lift my head to look down at him. “Harder, butterfly.” Then he flicks out his tongue, sending my worry away, sending my pleasure ramping again.
Especially when he pairs it with suction.
Oh lord, if this is how he uses his tongue, I can’t imagine how good he’s going to be with his branch.
My fingers tighten. “Oh God!”
He grunts again.
My legs wrap more firmly around him.
He sucks harder.
I gasp, draw him closer.
“That’s it,” he says, kissing his way over to my other breast, his hand coasting down my belly, dipping beneath the waistband of my joggers, my underwear, brushing over my clit and—
“Fuck,” I groan.
Because I’m right there.