A pulse moved through me, my heartbeat increasing as it pumped harder. Corbin was everything I knew he would be and nothing I ever expected and with that, my hands lifted of their own accord, navigating their way up his chest, tiptoeing up his broad neck and running across his soft hair. The resulting rumbling which emanated from his chest was a beacon to my own lust which I’d been really trying to keep dormant. This was more than just a reaction from those sneaky little pancakes, this was an attraction which came from trust and friendship, and I was powerless to stop it.
Under his touch, I came alive like never before, my body aching to be consumed.
His hands left my skin for just a second and that was all it took for him to shuffle backwards and pull me onto his lap.
Thank you, vegetation divinities - my prayers have been answered.
Straddling him, I met the greedy flick of his tongue. He traced his hands up and down my back, while I pushed into his groin unabashedly. The soft murmur which rumbled from his throat told me this wasn’t going to be enough. The can of worms was open, and I was ravenous to touch and be touched. By him. Now.
“Corbin,” I moaned, “would it be weird if we continued this, but with less clothes on?”
He kissed down my neck, his hands moving to my waist as he pressed me into what I could feel was his answer. Inhaling deeply against my skin, he released his breath on a low groan.
“It would be weird if we didn’t,” he threw my words back at me before taking my mouth again with his.
We fought for dominance; my lips going numb from the push and pull of our mouths. I was throbbing – my body responding in ways it never had before.
“Thank, God,” I said, as he effortlessly lifted me to my feet in another ‘how are you single’ moment.
When we stood, I wasted no time, flying into him with renewed passion. There was no space or time to think about my actions. I was driven by a need so deep, all I could see was him.
Shelby
Chapter Six
High Tea & Co, Australia
If three-drink Shelby was thirsty, weed-pancake Shelby was an unquenchable desert.
Somehow, we’d made it back to the room, our hands everywhere they shouldn't be, our mouths connected as if we provided each other oxygen.
We were both covered in a film of sweat, a combination of the heat and the unhinged way we were clawing at skin and clothing.
This moment felt cataclysmic. A build-up of tension, emotion and unexpected connection spanning eighteen years, two continents and a lifetime of moments.
“Shower?” He suggested and I nodded, unable to provide any more of a reply. My skin was on fire, ravenous to feel him all over me and I reached for the hem of his singlet, ripping it up over his head.
Spotting the dip and curve of his chest, I breathed in deeply. The man was built, and I needed totouch. To explore every single inch of his stomach, his shoulders, his arms. Answering my earlier question, there was a slight sprinkling of light brown hair leading beneath his shorts and my mouth filled with saliva.
“I want to maul you,” I admitted, watching him lean over and reach for the faucet. “And then I want to eat an entire box of Frosted Flakes.”
He shook his head as if he too couldn’t quite believe this was happening or maybe he just wanted some other kind of cereal. He did strike me as more of a Cornflakes guy.
“Come here,” he commanded, and I shuddered at the edge of need in his voice. The unspoken desire in those smouldering eyes. His tender lips swollen from our stolen kisses culminating in an invitation I couldn’t refuse. I stepped into his embrace, the steam of the shower surrounding us like an angelic, ethereal halo.
He dragged a fingertip from my lip to my collarbone, a slow deliberate stroke, lingering just long enough to send a shiver through me, before finally brushing over my sensitive, swollen breasts.
“You’re killing me,” I whimpered.
“I’ve wanted you, this, for so long,” his confession was low, guttural almost, evaporating into the steam as quickly as it came until I wasn’t sure if I’d even heard him speak at all.
He pressed his lips to my jaw. “I could pick you out of a crowd by your smell alone. You always smell the same. Like lilies and black tea. But this spot right here,” he buried his nose into the crook of my neck and breathed deeply, “smells like lychees.”
The sound I made at his assessment – at the feel of his face firmly pressed against my neck – was inhumane.
“You good?” He asked, the feel of his grin against my neck, my eyes fluttering closed. The smooth decadence of his voice amplified by the tiles of the washroom, sounding even huskier than before.
“I’d be better if you were naked,” I answered with far too much honesty, his adoration only fuelling my fire.
