“You didn’t think I’d be able to make you feel this good?”
She shook her head, trembling.
“God, you have no fucking idea.” In no time, she was clenching around his fingers, but he didn’t stop, letting her ride out her climax with dogged patience as she gasped and keened. Too quietly, like she was still afraid of him hearing how good he made her feel.
As the wave ebbed, she sank back onto the pillow, legs sliding off his shoulders. She pulled him closer, reaching for his cock. He pushed her arm away, locking it beside her head. “Not done with you yet, firecracker. Let me see your pretty tits.”
Flushed, Eiley pulled her cardigan and T-shirt off, and Warren cursed. He would have kept cursing if he had enough breath left. Her breasts were everything he’d dreamt about after that night in the bookstore, low and full, nipples a perfect pearl-pink. Her stomach was a round, gentle curve made dimpled by more puckered stretch marks.
“I swear to god, Eiley, you’re so fucking gorgeous.” More gorgeous than anybody he’d ever seen before. Even her shoulders, made golden by tight clusters of freckles, drew his attention; the pale, translucent column of her neck, where a gold necklace with anEpendant pooled in the hollow of her collarbone; her swollen, full lips and heart-shaped face. He wanted to memorise every part of her.
He didn’t know how he would carry on after this, knowing that, for a brief moment, he’d had her at his mercy.
Dipping over her torso, he finally lapped at her tits. Her heels dug into his back as he nestled into her, toying with her nipples until she was arching in pleasure. She yelped when his teeth scraped sensitive skin, fingers sifting through his hair again. Every jerk against his scalp left him craving more, craving everything.
“Feels so good,” she murmured. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t think he could, even if he wanted to.
Until her touch snaked down the nape of his neck, landing at his shoulder. He stilled at the same time she did, blood running cold. He’d hoped to distract her enough that she wouldn’t notice them. Sometimes, it worked. Sometimes, he didn’t need to explain the raised white scars across his back.
Warily, he looked up. Waited for the question. Waited to remember how broken he was, deep down.
But Eiley only said, “Do you want to talk about them or not?”
His heart hammered. Nobody had ever considered him enough to ask that. He’d been with women who would blurt out,What happened?or,Those are awful. Some had even stopped touching him, as though the ruin was contagious. It was enough to make him want to cover them up permanently, or else claw them off his back.
Eiley couldn’t know how kind it was to ask. To not ignore them or push them away, but make space for them. Ask him what he needed.
“Right now,” he said, “not.”
“Okay.” And then she lifted his chin to kiss him again, and he could forget about them. Forget about the scaffolding outside. Forget he was alone.
If they only had so much time together, he would spend every second of it getting lost in her. The rest would wait.
25
“Do you have a condom?” Eiley managed to pant out as Warren’s attention returned to her clit.
“Aye, but we don’t need one yet.” Without warning, he flipped her over so that she was the one straddling him. When his erection rubbed against her core, she couldn’t help but begin rutting over his briefs, desperate for friction. Desperate to be filled.
Warren gritted his teeth, grabbing her forearms. “Not yet. Fuck, not yet. I’m not done with you.”
A fire smouldered between her legs as she remembered his promise. She wasn’t sure what to expect, or even how long this might go on for. She didn’t even know how many orgasms she was capable of, considering one was usually a stretch. Foreplay had never been a focus with Finlay. He didn’t care if she was aroused enough, didn’t care if she’d orgasmed or not before he came inside her. He certainly hadn’t spent this much time on her body; Warren supped on it like she was expensive wine and he was already drunk. She’d been so afraid of getting naked in front of him, afraid that he wouldn’t likewhat he saw, but the opposite was true. He kissed her like there wasn’t enough of her, like there never would be.
Like she really was beautiful.
So she pushed those insecurities and questions away to focus on him, because he deserved all of her. He really did look like a work of fiction beneath her, ridged abdomen smooth and glistening with sweat, the planes of his chest smattered with dark hair, a birthmark shadowing his ribs. He couldn’t be real, and yet she could feel the heat of his skin, the solidity of his muscles. She could see lust radiating from every corner, every pore.
“Come here.” He beckoned, and she leaned over him, stationing her hands on either side of his head to kiss him. He allowed it for only a second, then pulled away. “Not like that, love.”
A squeak fell from her as he tugged her body over his, her core scraping up his torso. She ended up seated on his chest, clammy and confused. He seemed to like it, eyes sparking and lips spreading over overlapping teeth. “Don’t you want me to taste you?”
Oh. She’d never donethatbefore.
But she was doing a lot of new things today, things she never might have been brave enough to once, and she was desperate for friction. Could only imagine what it might feel like to ride him while his – clearly very skilled – tongue moved in and out of her.
He traced the line of her arm from elbow to shoulder gently. “You can say no. If you’re not into it—”
