The hard planesof his chest beneath my fingers coupled with his sensual tongue against my lips have my skin buzzing and my thoughts tumbling end over end.
I caress over his muscular shoulders and arch closer. The contact of my breasts against his chest and the firm ridge of his erection meeting where I’m starting to throb make us both groan.
Though only a few layers of fabric separate us, there’s no mistaking the heat growing between us, or his desire. It’s a powerful, rich feeling to be wanted like this. One I haven’t felt in so long. A whimper leaves my lips and I shift closer, already needing more.
He caresses up my thighs, under my dress, hooking his thumbs under the sides of my panties. “I need to make you come.”
My clit throbs with a needy ache and I suck in a breath.
“Is that okay?” he asks.
He must have mistaken the surprise on my face for apprehension. “Yes.”
After sliding the fabric past my hips, he shifts backwards to get them past my knees. The brush of his calloused fingers combined with the silky fabric gliding over my skin creates the most delicioussensation. The few times in my life where someone has undressed me, the act was hurried. An obstacle to deal with. For Linden, it doesn’t feel that way at all. The possibility that he wants to make this last creates a hot ache inside my heart.
“Already so messy for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he asks, stroking up the inside of my thighs.
“It’s your fault.”
He gives a lowhmmm. “Then I’d better do something about it.”
I can’t help my smile. “And soon, before I combust.”
He laughs, his eyes bright, almost electric.
Linden plants kisses at my knee, caressing higher with his big hands. Heat blooms tight and desperate inside my core. His lips are so soft. He peppers my skin with wet little kisses on his way up, slowly parting my thighs open. Unable to keep from touching him, I run my fingers through his thick hair, then over his bare shoulder.
He tugs the hem of my dress free and glides both thumbs over my throbbing flesh. I jolt.
With a low groan, he parts me open with his tongue. My fingers tighten in his hair as a shock wave shoots up my spine.
He buries his face between my legs, his lips sensual and his tongue slick and hot.
The pleasure is exquisite, intense. I open my thighs to get more of him everywhere, and he gently urges me back. “Fuck, you taste good,” he says on a groan.
He teases my clit, gentle at first, then harder, like he knows exactly how to tangle up every nerve ending into a buzzing, desperate knot. Stars burst apart behind my eyes. “Ohh.” I stuff my fist in my mouth, but Linden reaches up and draws my hand away.
“Let me hear you,” he says, easing one finger inside me.
My body starts to tremble. His warm, wet tongue is relentless and his thick finger stokes my inner fire, coaxing me to the brink.I start to rock with him, panting, my fingers gripping the comforter. Linden’s mouth and soft tongue glide and tease while his finger strokes a greedy, tender ache inside me, sending me flying over the edge. Liquid heat rolls through me so fast I have to close my eyes. I cry out, so lost to this intense form of pleasure there’s no way to hold anything back.
When finally I come down, gasping, my body limp against the bed, he’s releasing the tie of my dress. I comb through his hair as he kisses up my stomach and draws my dress open, the silk gliding across my hot skin, exposing me.
He pauses to take me in, his gaze reverent, serious, my arousal still wetting his lips. “You’re so beautiful.”
I give him a lazy smile.
He scoops under my back and slides the dress up and off, then shifts me to the middle of the bed and settles next to me, perched on his side. He caresses up my thighs in one long stroke, spreading his big hand, like he wants as much contact with my skin as he can get. He moves up my belly, over the center of my bra, then back down, his touch languid, the added friction of his callouses creating a current of desire beneath my skin.
So much for catching my breath.
I roll closer and capture his lips between mine. He releases a slow sigh and leans in to kiss me back, his full lips and soft tongue sealing mine with such tenderness and care, such focus. He strokes down my side, over the arch of my hip, and along my thigh, then back up.
“Can I touch you?” I ask, risking the brush of my fingers down his arm, then up his chest. He’s all warm skin and smooth, hard planes, lean and taut and strong.
“Yeah, shortcake,” he says, lifting my fingertips to his lips. “You can touch me.”
I roll him to his back and snug up against him on my side and caress his broad chest and down his middle. He tugs my top thighover his and continues stroking. Up and down. Slow, unhurried while I want to touch him everywhere at once. How can that be when he’s the one yet to be satisfied?
