He adds, “I’m not coming until you do. I want you to get there first.”
My breaths come out shorter. I can’t speak. I can barely hold his eyes with my own. My vision blackens.
Then his strokes slow.
My brows furrow as I cry out my displeasure.
His grin is slow and panther-like. “Did I forget to mention I’ll have to torture you first, the way you’ve tortured me?”
“F-Fuck you,” I stutter.
He laughs before his eyes return to a sinful midnight blue. “You’re so delicious when you’re mad and want to come.”
In a spiteful move, I move my fingers to where we’re connected and find my clit.
Stone notices what I’m doing, then bites his lip in reluctant approval. “Resourceful little thing.” He looks down again and stays there. “Fuck me.”
“Feels good, too,” I say through a moan.
Stone pulls out, both of us fascinated with the slide of his dick and the furtive circles of my fingers. He can’t contain his pleasure, groaning as he pushes in, then furtively pulls out.
The combined feeling of my fingers and him sent me over the moon and around it three times. I’m spinning, closing my eyes in wonderful bliss, our sweating bodies squeaking on the granite and clumping with flour.
Neither of us cares. We climb all the way to the top, Stone’s balls tightening against my pussy when he realizes I’m about to come.
“That’s it, Lavender.”
Stone watches me tremble with my second orgasm, using one hand to hold my jaw so he can memorize each twitch and own every moan.
When I go slack, so utterly satisfied, Stone retakes the wheel and jackhammers into me, ensuring more of my pleasure and a third orgasm before he loses himself in his own.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Noa
Hot air tickles the hair around my ear. I swat at it, thinking it’s a fly, then nestle into my pillow.
It happens again.
Frowning, I roll onto my back, then come up against something hard.
Hard and warm.
Hard and warm, and moving.
And smelling like Stone.
Last night comes back in a wave, our spontaneous romp in the kitchen and the mess we made both in the kitchen and with ourselves.
“Shit,” I mutter, trying to slide out from under the possession of his arm.
I don’t regret what we did. Not physically. Stone made my body feel things I’d long forgotten were important, like pleasure and a satiating sleep. We’d showered together after in the guest bathroom, sudsing our bodies and unable to resist coming together again. And again.
Our bodies missed one another more than our minds allowed us to remember, and I couldn’t control the innate need to have him fill me, carry me, and hold me.
Morning makes a difference, and as the golden sunrise peeks through the blinds, I sneak out of the couch’s bed without disturbing him.
I pull on a T-shirt and thin robe before entering the hallway and going upstairs to do a quick check of Mrs. Stalinski’s room.
