Again, I want to clench my thighs, that want building into a need, but I still can’t. Not with his leg positioned between them. It only makes the ache building there that much more unbearable.
And he knows it. I don’t even need to look down at him to confirm he’s grinning. I can feel it in those featherlight kisses he trails up from my breasts to my throat again. I can’t control the shiver that racks my body. I’m definitely a “neck” kind of girl, and having those delicious lips settle in my favorite spot just below my ear has every cell in my body begging for more. I should (or at least normally would) be embarrassed by the moan that slips out of me, but I’m not the only one affected. With Michael pretty much lying over me, I can feel the hardened length of him brushing my thigh.
“Tell me you don’t want this.” His voice is nearly breathless, almost pained, like he’s doing everything in his power to keep his shit together. And it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. The heat of his breath only invites my hip to rise, allowing my thigh to skim ever so gently over the head of his cock.
Any restraint left in him snaps, and I’m not sure who makes the first move. Our lips crash into one another’s, and there’s nothing remotely gentle or poetic in our actions. His tongue pushes between my lips, devouring me, as my fingers fist into the back of his hair. It’s savage. Wanton.
I can’t help it. My hips thrust upward, demanding. I tease my thigh along his length again to drive home my point, and Michael answers by repositioning his other leg so it’s between both of mine. My thighs can wrap around him, inviting his hands to grip my hips. In one fluid movement, he pulls us both up into a sitting position at the end of the bench, all the while never breaking our kiss.
He cups my ass, and the tempo he sets as he rocks my hips creates the perfect amount of friction between us. This man is claiming my body, and he’s not even inside me yet.
But two can play at that game. Now seated in his lap, feeling him twitch against my center, I can’t resist taunting Michael right back, opting to straddle him. He doesn’t seem to mind my dominance at the moment. Not one bit. Not as I return the favor.
I don’t all-out grind against him, circling only the head of his cock with my center. His hips instinctively thrust upward, demanding more, and the groans I expel from him may very well be the sexiest things I’ve ever heard. They grow louder with every movement I make, the leash on his control slipping, slipping, slipping.
I concede, rubbing myself up his entire length, but each stroke is achingly soft. Again, and again, and again, I move in time with the pulse that throbs between us.
“You’re fucking killing me here, kitten.” The sentence tears out of him on barely more than a breath, and I swear the look on his face, to knowIbrought him to this brink, is ruinous.
He started this game. If he wants to round the bases to home plate, he’s the one who will have to make the move. I pull his bottom lip between my teeth, nipping it just hard enough to punctuate my point.
His grip on my ass tightens in response, thrusting me all out against him. Dear God, bless this man, because the position hits me right where I need it.
Fuck ‘savage.’
This isprimal.
There’s no logic to our actions. No teasing. No pretenses. Just two bodies hungry and desperate to satiate this appetite. I’m not exactly a prude, but never have I hooked up with a complete stranger. The mere idea—the complete unfamiliarity of it all—had always been too scary for me to consider, so much so that I couldn’t rationalize how other people could do it, how you could trust a stranger with the most intimate parts of yourself.
But I get it now.
Oh, holy shit, do I get it.
Because a bomb could go off beside us, and I still wouldn’t want him to stop. Our hands grip and yank at everything from hair to clothing, and even with his pants still firmly in place, the rhythm we’re building together threatens to push me over the edge all by itself.
But I need more. I need him to hit every pleasure point on and in my body. I begin drawing down the zipper of his pants, only for Michael to go still. If the expression he had a moment ago was one of pain, this must be complete and utter torture.
“I don’t have anything on me,” he admits with a groan, and the dawning realization has me sharing in the sentiment.
Considering the monkey suit he’s wearing and the fact he never wanted to come here, he apparently didn’t see the need to grab a condom, and the clutch I’m using is from Maggie. Sure, there were some in it when she lent it to me, but like an idiot, I also assumed I wouldn’t need any and gave them back to her.
Fuck. My. Life.
A squeal escapes me as I’m suddenly lifted off Michael’s lap, only to be turned around and deposited down onto his thigh. My legs straddle him on either side, and before I can ask what he’s doing, an arm envelops my middle, pulling me back until I’m flush against the left side of his chest.
Michael’s lips form into a smile as they press against my ear. “That doesn’t mean we still can’t have fun, and I’m nothing if not generous.”
He begins to guide my hips back and forth into a steady rhythm, and the sheer amount of muscles adorning his thigh makes it impossible to resist all-out grinding against him. Lips crash against my neck, and his other hand reached around to—
Holy Mary, Mother of God!
He works my clit, the stimulation enough that it has me outright whimpering. This only seems to please him more, if his mouth is any indicator. He suckles at the skin, harder and harder, damn near growling, “Come for me, love.”
I reach behind me, seizing hold of his hair, so, so, so close to the brink…
…until glass smashes in front of us on the cobblestone courtyard.
What the hell?
