Once he committed, he wasn’t slowing down. Neither was she. The moment his shirt was off, Cordy reached for him. Her greedy fingers slid over his chest, ticked off the notches in his abs, got tangled in the dark hair covering him. She lowered her face and inhaled the scent of his bare skin, so sharp, so clean.
When her tongue swiped over his nipple for a taste, he groaned. “I can’t let you do too much of this, or I’ll explode.”
The thick length of his cock straining at his fly proved he wasn’t lying. After he’d held back with Cordy all the times before, the thought of making Chance come right now was delightfully wicked—a little payback for holding out on her for so long.
She rubbed the heel of her palm into his bulge. He thrust helplessly into her hand, biting his lower lip, his pupils blown.
“It would serve you right,” she said. “If I made you come and never took my clothes off.”
“It’d be the best punishment I’ve ever had.” He shuddered when she squeezed. “But it’s not going to happen.”
Quicker than Cordy could react, Chance caught her up in his arms. He started for the hallway and Cordy waited for him to make a right toward her room… but he took a hard left towardhisroom.
She swallowed her noise of surprise. Cordy didn’t think of him as a tomcat anymore, but she still had the sense of following something wild and unapproachable back to its lair. She knew without asking he’d never taken a woman to his bed before—she was going to be the first.
Neither of them were virgins, but there was a trembling weight to this. Maybe because they were both plenty experienced in sex, butemotions… these kinds of tender, deep emotions were new. And scary.
“You still okay with this?” Chance’s voice was like black velvet as he laid her on his bed.
Of course, he’d read her hesitation. He was too perceptive to miss it.
“I’m good if you are.” She looked around. His bedroom was neat and quiet, with a thriller paperback on the bedside table and a few sketches of plants on the walls. She recognized the sketches as the work of an artist who had a booth at Third Thursdays.
The room felt like a refuge. Cordy wondered if Chance had made it that way on purpose. There were probably a lot of things he wanted to escape from after his mom had died—did he come into this room at the end of the worst days and lean against the door, finally relieved to be home?
Probably not. Chance wasn’t the type to lean against anything. Still, she felt like he could at least do that subconsciously here.
“This is your room.”
Cordy put layers into that.
I like it.
I’m glad I’m here.
Areyoustill okay with this?
“Yeah.” His smile was wry. “This is it.”
His words had layers, too.
It is a little weird.I am kind of wound up, but I still want you.
So Cordy put her arms around Chance’s neck and pulled him down to her. He was careful not to bear his full weight down, but his mouth was hungry, his kiss fierce. He helped her get herclothes off and pulled off his jeans, but when she reached for him, he slipped away from her.
“No.” Chance’s voice was dark and stern. “You’re coming first.”
“But you always make me come.”
“That’s right. And I always will.” He slid between her legs. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it fast. And then you can use my cock to come again.”
Okay, well, complaining about that would just be bitchy. And when Chance was true to his word, kissing and licking and driving her to a fast and hard orgasm, Cordy couldn’t do anything except clutch handfuls of his bedspread and hang on for dear life.
Chance knew even if he lived to a thousand, he’d never see anything as gorgeous as Cordy’s face when she came.
Her flushed cheeks, sweat-dewed forehead, half-closed eyes, wet lips open on a silent gasp—nothing would ever come close.
“Okay.” Cordy fought to catch her breath. “I won’t argue about coming first again. But now I get to touch you.”
