For some ticking moments, we hold a feral charged stare down. I eventually break eye contact due to a wave of heat that covers my cheeks that I try to conceal by looking at the bowl below me, only to notice that I’ve accidently sunk my fingers into the batter. Great, just great. I find myself ill at ease waiting, not sure for what. His next steps are the only sound in the expectant silence surrounding us. It’s clear he is making his way toward me; alas, I cannot face him due to my more than evident edgy-basket-case condition.
My chest tightens as the notion of him standing close behind me registers. There must be but a sliver of space separating us now, as I can clearly feel the heat his body radiates and hear a hint of him breathing next to my ear. A warm shiver trails from the very top of my arms all the way to my toes as his hands gently move to hold my shoulders. Slowly, they trail down, rising my skin in their wake. My breath is held and everything inside me springs tight when his body presses just enough for mine to absorb his warmth and to feel the firmness that I recently learned is part of him. He brushes my hair over my shoulder with his chin. A tidal wave of heat spirals below my waist once his warm, minty breath hovers closely, and his bristled cheek softly grazes my flushed one.
He halts for a long moment.
“What are you doing?” I croakily breathe.
“Waiting for you to stop me.” His voice is rasp and low and reaches to every single part of my alert body.
My heart and mind speed at a hazardous velocity while I struggle for my next move. The last thing I want is for him to stop. I don’t say a word but blatantly press back against him, resting my head on his drumming chest. It’s less of a spoken consent and more of a silent agreement. Whatever is starting between us is happening nonetheless, with my undeniable blessing. His hands reach mine and gently pull them away from the bowl I’m still holding on to. One of his hands leaves mine for the towel. I feel his hard chest and ridges move against my back as he works to clean any remnants of the batter from my hands. He then tosses the towel aside and moves his hand across my stomach to curl around my waist. In one fluid move, he turns me; my rear meets the counter and I’m facing him. My eyes drop to the floor. His hands grab my hips from both sides and lift me to sit on the space I’ve just worked on. I lightly jerk, landing on the counter, and my lips reflexively part. He inches closer, parting my thighs and making my dress lift up as his hips settle between them. A spot of heat spreads by the touch of his finger beneath my chin as it tilts my head to meet his gaze. I blink into his feral browns.
“I wouldn’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”
My mind is saying: “You can do anything you want to me . . . please do, everything, now!” But my lips don’t move. I am just staring at him, boiling up inside, my cheeks and my entire body feels as though a ring of fire surrounds me. With my continued silence, he slightly crouches, twisting his face a little. Ever so slowly, his lips brush mine. His mouth hovers there, waiting. Pulled into his force field and into the lustful moment, I move my lips closer; close enough for the tip of my tongue to stroke his upper lip. In less than a breath, his hand threads into the hair at the back of my head while the other cradles my rear and both push me into him. Our mouths crash and his tongue coaxes my lips to gape. I part them and close my eyes, drunk on his taste as his tongue sensually traces mine. His taste streams most divinely from my enthralled tongue down my throat to the rest of me; velvety, warm, and deliciously smooth, just like savoring a sharp, sweet liquor. His hand at the back of my neck eases me deeper into our kiss that’s on fire while the one holding my rear slides under me, teasingly grazing, and almost driving me to the edge as his fingers press against my sensitized skin. Red-hot desire is taking over me and my legs wrap around his firm ass, pressing him closer to me. Every sensible thought flies out of my head as I devour his mouth, indulging in his touch. Our tongues unite in haste, vigorously.
Too abruptly, both his hands move to my shoulders in tandem to his mouth gradually disengaging from mine. He leans his forehead to mine, his breath as my own, heavier. He takes a deep mending breath and says to my lips, “How about we take this somewhere else?”
He tips back to look at me, waiting for my reply. The only motion I am able make at this stage is a small nod of consent.
It takes less than a few hasty moments for us to lock up and leave the café. Once the night’s breeze hits me, my courage takes a step back and I start processing what has just happened. Reason kicks in now that he is not between my legs. Many questions and warning signs parade through my mind, but before I’m able to speak up and call off whatever I’ve just agreed to, he hands me a black, shiny helmet. The promise in the gleam of his eyes makes me overrule any objection my mind has just raised.
“I’ve got only one; you put it on.”
I do as told and peek at the beast that firmly stands on two wide wheels before us, gleaming in metallic black under the streetlight. I take a second look at the blown out of proportion metal bulldog, and my stare bounces to my dress; these two don’t exactly harmonize. There’s a low chuckle from right beside me. I lift my eyes to meet his, crinkled at the edges. He motions for me to climb the vehicle that any minute now will force me to spread my legs wider than I’ve spread them while I had its owner between them not so long ago. I frown and consider the best tactic to mount the bike elegantly. There’s a mumble behind me, and before I know it, I find myself being plopped onto the leather seat. As gracefully as possible, I lift my leg to straddle the bike, somehow adjusting the crumpled heap of fabric that is my dress between my now exposed legs.
“Your place?”
I bob my head under the helmet. He tips my visor down with a tap of his finger and gifts me with a light smile before mounting the bike. Fascinated, I watch his butt as he settles in front of me and kill the urge to grab a fistful of that alluring firmness. As it comes to butts, the mister here seems to possess a perfect one. Or at least it appears that way from the tight fit of his jeans.
The engine roars as he squeezes the throttle, and my heart jumps at the escalating sound. He takes my hands at each side of his waist and tugs them to wrap around him.
“Hold on tight,” he orders and takes off.
Hold on tight. He couldn’t have said it better. When it comes to him, I have no problem obeying that command. In fact, I’d probably obey just about anything he said at this point. Seems like he could easily sweep me far away from my safe shore. Heck, he already has.
Adrenaline is rushing through me together with desire, excitement, and anxiety. I close my eyes, pushing away the red alarms flashing in all shapes and sizes in my head, and focus on the cool wind brushing against my bare legs and the wide, firm body I embrace tightly. At the next red light, he reaches his hand to caress my exposed knee, sending an electrical current that’s been steadily buzzing within me to intensify. The ride, luckily, is short enough for my courage not to fade away completely.
His hand burns the small of my back as we silently make our way to my doorstep. It slides to hold my hip, not exactly helping my wobbly attempt at unlocking the door. The beat of my heart hastily develops as we stand in my living room facing each other. I can almost hear the air crackling with the carnal charge looping between our bodies. All of a sudden, it feels like the place is too illuminated and the bed far, too far inside. He inches closer and my breath hitches.
“So, what would you like to do?” I croak out the dumbest question to have ever been asked. In my defense, I might be freaking out a tiny bit. It’s not like every day I have a younger, hotter than I’m not sure even what guy in my house for the sole purpose of carnal knowledge. Talk about a one-night stand baptism of fire.
His lips wickedly crack up at the side, and his eyes meld into mine.
“Which version of what I want to do would you like?” The question on my face prompts him to elaborate. “A cultivated answer or the one on the tip of my tongue?” Thinking about the many possibilities that the tip of his tongue holds, I swallow hard.
&
nbsp; “Tip of your tongue,” I say softly, looking at him from under my lashes.
“Well…” He licks his lips and I follow the simple motion, captivated. “I want to taste you so I can finally put to rest my recent obsession with how you taste.”
Flames erupt from my insides out. I feel them pour out of my cheeks, neck, and chest. Dumbstruck, I just lift one finger and squeak, “Excuse me.” And bolt to the bathroom. Holy. Momma. Of. God.
I hold the sink, more accurately grip the sink, white knuckles and all, from both sides. I drop my head down. What have I gotten myself into? If there’s something I don’t do, it’s these kind of “adventures.” Hell, I’ve never gotten into bed with anyone before knowing him, or at least having some basic background about him. Good. Lord. At least known his friggin’ name! Yeah, I know, I know, my grand plan is to stop being . . . me. Too calculated, always doing the sensible thing me, but in my book of basic morals, this doesn’t translate to converting into a slut.
Holy shitness, he has an obsession with the way I taste?
Just the mere thought of him saying that brings my nipples and the organ on the menu to full attention. Truth be told, I’ve never been much of a lingual mining in my cave kind of gal. Never worked for me and always made me feel uneasy, unnecessarily stressed when I obviously needed to be relaxed, and sadly enough, it not even once brought home the gem. Yet, I must admit, it’s a nice, natural creative way to “oil the wheels,” alas, that’s it. I raise my head to look at myself in the mirror. Flushed would be a compliment to the display echoing from the reflective surface.
My eyes roam south and a frown settles on my face as I give my stomach area a hostile glare. If I go through with the “tasting” and whatever else is on the Carte du Jour of the forthcoming degustation feast, I’ll have to be naked next to him. If I recall correctly, and boy, do I, he has a perfect, swimmer kind of bod. Tanned, lean muscles, everything in place in the right sizes and shapes. Self-conscious doesn’t begin to cover how I feel right now.
Sadly, very sadly, I start looking for a good enough excuse to give Mr. Professional Taster to call the whole thing off. There are too many doubts outweighing the let-loose, get naked, and ride that man like you’ve never rode anything before sizzling desire within me. And just before I’m able to come up with something better than, “excuse me but I’m a complete moron and I’m about to pass on you . . .” a knock on the door jerks me back from my white-flagging thoughts.
“Can I come in?” his voice funnels from behind the door, coated with determination.
Unfortunately, I am a grown-up woman who cannot just close her eyes tight and pretend that whatever’s making her uncomfortable might just go away. Instead of an answer, I just unlock the door.
“Are you okay?” His eyes run over me somewhat concerned. I downcast mine and my stare lands on his wrist. And what a wrist it is, wide and bronze, and perfectly virile. The metal watch wrapping it gives it an extra masculine look. Even his wrist is goddamn attractive. He takes a step toward me and ducks just enough to level our eyes. Okay, how on Earth do I answer that . . . am I okay? Certainly one of those must-lie situations.
“Um . . . I was planning to take a quick shower.”
He doesn’t waver his stare from mine as he extends his arm to turn the shower on. I watch him static as he checks the water and sink my teeth into my cheek when he gestures for me with a small tilt of his head and a swift eyebrow raise to get in. The way he looks at me alone has the power to chase my sanity away. Sensing my discomfort, he leans toward me, slightly tips his head, and ever so slowly, his lips meet mine. After the second jaunt on my lips, his tongue urges entrance and with the parting of mine delectably reaches in. His hand moves to cup the hollow below my chin while his other slowly makes its way from my collarbone to the side of my breast. My nipple hardens, sending a calling of want in the direction of my thighs with the soar of his hand, just a hint of a touch, over the swell. I let out a soft breathy sound as his thumb moves to graze the edged peak.
His hands slide toward the hem of my dress at my thighs. His fingers gently graze my skin as he slowly lifts the fabric up over my waist, my chest, and above my head. I stare up at him with my lips agape, part in desire and part in enchanted daze. He tips back and gazes at me as I stand before him in my lavender lacy underwear. The earlier self-conscious feeling is now overpowered by how bothered and hot for him I am. A feeling that intensifies as he relishes the sight of me with unmistakable heat. He bends to leave a soft kiss on my bare shoulder and gestures for me to step into the shower.
I stare at him and my brows squint. I swallow hard and ask, “Um, are you staying . . . hemm, joining?” The latter part of my question comes out mildly raspy. A hint of amusement touches his eyes. He slowly shakes his head and his lips join, crooking up at one side.
“I’m watching.”
I’m not sure what takes over me, but whatever it is, it’s burning and exciting and new. He leans his hand on the mirror behind me, and in an expanse of a blink, his lips taste the skin right below my ear. A tiny bite makes me flinch and for my middle to simultaneously tighten. I close my eyes and let my head fall back. Everything inside me aches for his touch. Somewhere along the trail of kisses and bites he leaves while advancing toward my shoulder, he manages to unclasp my bra. He sends his hands to the straps that now lay loose on my shoulders. With the tips of his fingers, he grazes my skin, dragging the straps to fall down. He crouches and treats my panties the same way, sliding them down, leaving faint marks on my skin. He inches up, his eyes re-meeting my glazed ones. He offers me his hand and I take it with mine. It’s barely a step away, but he still leads me to the open shower that has thickened the air around us with humid warmth. There isn’t even a steam-covered glass or any barrier for that matter to hide behind; I’m completely and tensely exposed to him. I take a step back with my eyes glued to his. I can’t seem to be able to break the intense lock he has on mine.
He leans with his shoulder to the wall, raptly watching me as the water cascades down my body. I close my eyes and tilt my head back for the warm stream to wash over me. As I flutter my eyes into his, my lips part in response to what’s spoken through them. He sends his hand toward me and with the pad of his finger he slowly follows over the routes the descending water drops leave between my breasts. My skin rises, electrified by his touch, the water and this entire scenario webbing me in. I hold my breath while warm waves tidal from my core to the rest of me. I watch him, burning, and my mouth turns dry as he absorbedly retraces the trail of the droplets on my skin.
It’s almost inhuman how I crave for this man’s touch to cover me, all over and now. He takes a step in and stands under the water with me, fully dressed. Without any warning, his hands reach to hold my face and his lips urgently cover mine. He pulls me into the connection of our mouths, leaving tenderness aside. He pins me to the tiles and brings his leg between mine, covering me completely with his firm body as the water keeps pouring above us. The rasp of his warm fabric clad body teases my skin and a soft moan floats from my lips. His damp shirt whispers teasingly on my oversensitive nipples, the warmth of his hands hovering my flesh. I’m breathless and he hasn’t even really touched me yet. His thigh presses against my middle and I gust out another strained moan.
He doesn’t kiss me next; his mouth raids mine, frantically, feverishly, keenly. I counter him as eagerly, my fingers lace into his wet strands and tug him into me. Pants entwined with carnal hums waft through our searing connection. My heart is racing, that warmness in my lower body expanding, reaching deeper, making me heady with desire. He sucks my bottom lip between his, still holding my face near. Gradually, he leans back, breaking our mutual trance. The grasp of his teeth slightly pulls my lip back. He releases my lip, inclines back to brush my mouth with his again, and drops to his knees. My eyes fall after him. Water flows over his face, enhancing his masculine, hard features. Droplets cling to the long dark lashes fencing his raw-brown stare that’s holding mine with irresis
tible intent. With his eyes still boring into mine, he sends his palm to cover me and for his thumb to slowly sink between my folds. I almost lose my balance as a surge of heat runs down my spine to where he touches me. Still gazing at me with a stare that takes over the control of my breathing, he starts caressing ever so slowly up and down my cleft with the pad of his thumb. I close my eyes and a breathy, “Oh, God,” rips off my mouth as his tongue takes the place of where his thumb just marked. God, it feels so good. So. Good. Electrical streams play at my spine. I guess it’s all about the miner after all . . .
I shiver all over, all over. Shiver and pant. Heatwave after heatwave wash over every inch of my skin. My legs lose the ability to hold me, and I grab the shower arm for support. His tongue spreads flat and firmly presses slowly over me, and over again, and again. Up and down, and slow and heavenly. And inside and out, and, “Oh, God . . .” I whimper as he sucks my clit into his warm, fleshy lips and the aroused spot responds in an overpowering spasm. I let out an uncontrollable moan followed by hurried pants as his strokes and suckles become even more profound and precise. He grabs my leg behind my knee and drapes it over his shoulder, spreading me wider for him while helping with my balance that has become a great challenge. At the verge of torture, the sweet ache is too much to bear. I let out wild cries, no longer in control of myself as his tongue works harder and deeper each time over my burning flesh. I peep at him with hooded eyes and parted lips, watching his mouth against me and it’s almost my undoing. As his finger joins and the pressure grows, I feel myself build up, on fire.
When a second finger fills me in steady slides and his tongue moves to circle the very point that delightfully throbs with my desire for him, my orgasm doesn’t reach me, it crashes upon me, strong and hard. I’m shattering into a million heavenly pieces.
Leaving Me Behind Page 6
