He does.
His mouth is almost violent against mine, one hand at my hip, puling me into him, the other at my neck, his thumb pressing into my pulse point, his large palm moving mejust soto get the angle right as his mouth seals over mine, an all-consuming kiss, flashes of light dancing behind my closed eyes as my arms wrap around his shoulders, desperate for some leverage to give as good as I’m getting.
It’s a wild frenzied connection, hot opened-mouthed kisses and hands everywhere, bodies colliding as his teeth nip at my bottom lip before diving down over my jaw to my neck as he spins us around and backs us up, one stumbling step and then another until my hip collides with the countertop.
His hands slide around to my ass, pulling me against him, holding my hips to his as he presses forward, a mockery of what my body is truly craving, but the friction of his jeans and my cotton shorts is enough to have me pulling away gasping. He takes that as his cue to lift me up onto the countertop and step between my legs, immediately going straight back to work at my neck, his hands running up and down my thighs before settling his hands around them, his thumbs working gently inward as they caress my skin.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. Or, actually, I can. What I can’t believe is that I held out this long. Which is kind of pathetic becausethis longisn’t that long at all. Though right now I’m pretty pissed at myself that two years ago I didn’t grab him bythe shirt, push him into the back seat of my car and ride him until dawn in the shadow of Dodger Stadium.
But there’s no going back and I’m here now with his mouth nipping at my throat, his fingertips inching ever closer to exactly where I want him to go, but then, instead, he pulls away, staring down at me for a moment and then another, our ragged breath the only sound in the sad, nondescript condo.
He lifts one hand to my breast, his thumb coaxing the peak into an aching pebble, desperate for more, for his tongue and his lips and maybe just a little bit of his teeth.
“Fuck me,” I choke out when those teeth graze a sensitive spot just below my ear and his responding grunt answers while his mouth latches on, marking my skin with the force of his kiss.
“That’s the idea,” he mumbles against my neck.
I yank away from him and nearly whimper at the loss of contact, but I need more than this, I need to feel him on my skin. Pulling his borrowed t-shirt up over my head, I toss it behind me and sit back, watching him watch me.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, and I almost want to roll my eyes because I’m wearing a pretty normal bra, just some white satin and a bit of lace around the back.
“It’s nothing special,” I insist, running a thumb under the strap over one shoulder. It’s cold in the apartment, theACworking overtime, and a shiver runs through me, goosebumps appearing over my skin.
He looks down at me, a lock of his brown hair falling down over his forehead. “You think I give a shit about the bra? Just fucking look at you, Sullivan.”
“Back to Sullivan, huh?”
“When you’re being obtuse about how fucking sexy you are, damn right.”
Lifting a leg, I settle my heel into the small of his back,drawing him closer to me, pulling his body flush with mine. “Charlie?”
“Yeah?” he chokes out, his hands falling to my hips, one finger dipping briefly beneath the waistband, making me shiver against more than just the cold, before he grips it tightly, keeping our bodies pressed together.
“Touch me.”
I don’t have to ask twice. He ducks his head, his nose tracing the edge of my bra before diving between my breasts, inhaling deeply before pressing a warm, lingering kiss in the valley between them. Then he looks up, his eyes holding mine for a second and then another. “So soft,” he whispers against my skin, and then he closes his eyes, as his mouth slides up and over the steep rise.
One hand slips up over my ribcage, his thumb tracing the underside of my other breast before he weighs it in his palm. Gasping, I don’t know what I want more, his hands or his mouth, but he doesn’t make me choose. With a sharp yank, he pulls the fabric down, the cold air only hitting me for a split second before his hand covers one tightening nipple and his mouth falls to the other.
I tighten my legs around him, pulling myself up as close as I can, desperate to create as much sweet friction as possible between us, my hips moving in time with the absolute filthy sounds he’s making as his mouth explores one breast and then the other. Burying a hand in his hair, the other holding his shoulder for dear life, I can’t help but fall back onto the counter, taking him with me as his lips start a trail down over the planes of my stomach, stopping for an agonizing detour at my belly button, circling it gently with his tongue before resting his cheek against the jut of my hip bone.
His fingers play with the fabric strings tied into a neat bow at the waist of my shorts. “Can I?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, wondering idly if later on I’ll be embarrassed at how quickly I agreed for him to completely expose me when he’s still fully clothed, but right now I don’t care at all. I need more of him, more of his mouth, more of his fingers.
“So fucking pretty,” he mutters, when he pulls the cotton free of my feet, taking my socks along with them. “And so fucking ready.”
His thumb presses against the silken fabric of my panties.
“You look pretty ready too,” I shoot back, my gaze flickering to the substantial bulge against the zipper of his jeans.
He reaches down to adjust himself. “That’s for later,” he promises. “Right now, all I want is to do is . . .” he hesitates for a second, like maybe he’s not sure I want to hear it.
“Tell me,” I beg.
“I want to suck on your clit until your thighs are shaking around my ears and your voice goes hoarse from screaming my name.”
“Oh my God,” I manage to mumble, when he leans over me again, pressing a kiss to my lips, gentle and sweet, the exact opposite of the words he just uttered.
