Page 85 of Get Me to the Starting Line
I add my ring finger, and when I graze the rough interior with more pressure, the moan that slips through her lips is so intoxicating I almost come right in my pants.
But I grit my teeth and focus all my attention on her. While my fingers work that delicious spot, my thumb moves up to circle herclit. I’m fucking drunk as I watch her face, repeating the actions that have her moaning and her eyes closing.
I can’t have that. I want to see her eyes when I make her come.
“Look at me,” I demand.
Her eyes fly open, finding mine in the dark room. I can’t even hear the TV anymore. We could be losing 10–0 and I wouldn’t care, not with Leah’s gaze locked on mine, not with my hand working her centre, finding everything she likes. She cries out when I move my thumb up and down.
Found it.
I keep the rhythm and intensity the same, though all I want is to go faster, harder, fuck her with my fingers. But that’s not what she needs, so I keep my hand steady and watch as she unravels, chest heaving and body writhing, her eyes glued to mine.
The sound of her orgasm rips through her open mouth.
Holy fucking shit.
I have to clench every muscle in my body not to explode. The only friction on my cock is my pants and I’m still barely hanging on. Leah slumps into the couch, the lust in her eyes barely ebbed.
That thing inside me purrs—she’s nowhere near satiated. It’s my mission to fulfill that need in her. Her hips move again, searching for more. I’ll gladly oblige, but this time I want her on my mouth.
She starts to move but I halt her with a look. Hm, orgasms make her more pliable. I like that.
Or so I thought. I begin to kiss down her stomach until her hand in my hair stops me.
“Julien,” she breathes.
“You aren’t going to let me taste you?” I mutter into her shirt, not moving my face away from her stomach.
“I need you inside me, I can’t stand it,” she pleads.
As much as I want her on my mouth, how can I refuse that request? I’ll happily oblige—my need is just as strong as hers.
“Bed or right here?”
“I don’t think I can make it to the bed, I have to have you now,” she commands. So much for pliable. Bossy thing.
I think I like it.
“Of course,mon rêve.”
She adjusts, sliding up the couch, giving me more space. Her hand reaches for my jeans, undoing the button and sliding inside my boxers. I can’t have that, though. I’m about to burst.
My hips jerk back in self-preservation and a whip of pain lances up my spine and down my legs.
“Nosex,”Dr.Douchesays, looking between Julien and me.
Thankfully the MRI showed no serious damage and the hip was still in place.
Julien sits on the exam bed covered in ice packs while Caleb scans his chart. I rushed Julien to the ER, apologizing profusely the whole way. I knew we shouldn’t have been doing this for so many reasons, the first being he can’t freaking move his hips without pain.
Hips are an important part of sex.
Julien was silent during the drive and through all the tests, slowly breathing in and out. The antiseptic smell of the hospital and cold exam room, not to mention the plain blue walls, take me back to last year.
Nobody likes hospitals, but after I almost died, I never wanted to set foot in one again. Now I’ve been twice in the span of two months.
I suck it up, though, because Julien is hurt because of me. I can’t tell if he’s mad at me or himself, or angry with the whole situation. He can’t be angrier than I am at myself for letting it get that far.
