by Skylar Hill
The way he looked at her… it was unlike any way a man had ever looked at her in her life. The warmth in his eyes wasn’t just heat. It wasn’t just lust.
It was adoration.
Yearning.
Like he’d been waiting for her. Like he’d finally found her and he couldn’t quite believe it.
She couldn’t quite believe it. How could this be real? This was so unlike her. She didn’t do things like this.
She didn’t meet men like him.
Her head was spinning, her nerve-endings felt frayed, like they’d spark into flame even with an innocent touch.
But the way he was touching her was anything but innocent.
“Cam,” he said. Her name on his lips was a deep, delicious rumble of a sound that wrapped around her like silk. “Tell me what you want.”
If she was smart, she would pull away.
If she was cautious, she would take it slow.
But if she was honest…
Cam’s hands tightened in his hair and she bent down, her lips brushing against his, once, twice, three times. Achingly slow, teasingly soft, maddeningly in control.
She pulled away, and his eyes drifted open, and there it was again, that look that said you’re mine.
“You,” she said. “I want you.”
Chapter Six
James
Getting from the shop to his car in the pouring rain was slightly less effective than a cold shower. But by the time they finally made it into the shelter of his Tesla three blocks down, she turned toward him, laughing. She was soaking wet, her curls damp and wild all over her face, her cheeks red, and he couldn’t stop himself from closing the gap between them, his hand stroking down the curve of her neck as his tongue teased against her lips and she gasped into his mouth. Her skin had raindrops on it, and she tasted like water and springtime, like the possibility of home.
Getting from the shop to his loft was one of the most frustrating, tension-filled half hours of his life. The whole drive over, he kept his hand on her thigh, unable to cease some kind of contact even for a moment.
He felt wildly out of control and intensely focused all at once as they took the elevator up to the top, private floor accessible only by key. When he’d told Aiden he was coming home for good, his brother had insisted on him staying in the eco-friendly building he’d built in downtown Portland. It wasn’t really his style, very modern and a little severe—a lot like Aiden, really—but James knew he didn’t have time to house-hunt and start his own studio, so he’d taken Aiden up on the offer.
Little drops of water were still dripping off the hem of her shirt—damn, she must be freezing, he thought as the elevator doors opened into the loft hallway.
“Come and stand next to the fire,” he urged, pulling her into the loft. It was all open spaces, floor-to-ceiling windows, and clean lines, with the enormous eco-friendly fireplace made from repurposed volcanic rock taking up most of the living room. He lit it quickly, the flames crackling and dancing, already starting to warm the room.
Cam rubbed her hands together, holding them out to the flame. “You have a very nice place,” she said, trying to stop her teeth from chattering.
“You’re freezing,” he said, grabbing a blanket from the couch and wrapping it around her shoulders. “I’m gonna make you something hot to drink. I’ll be right back.”
Truth be told, he needed a second to gather himself or he was just going to pounce on her like a lion on a gazelle.
Who knew the wet, slightly drowned look did it for me? he thought as he poured water into a teakettle and set it on the stove.
But he knew it was her. Just her. She could be wearing a paper bag and he’d find it hot as hell.
His father had used to tell his boys that he’d known after their first conversation he was going to marry their mother. She opened her mouth and talked about tree-killing fungus, and boys, I was gone. I never had a chance when it came to that woman. Never wanted one.
James had always thought it was funny, a sentimental little joke.
But now he was starting to see the truth of it. Now he was right in the middle of the truth of it.
One conversation. Hell, one look at her art, and he’d never had a chance.
And now she was in his home. Soon, she’d be in his bed.
His hands almost shook at the intensity of the thought. He wanted to make her his in all the ways that counted. He wanted to fuck her so deep, touch her so sweet, make her come so hard she’d never even think about being parted from him.
Take it slow, he reminded himself as he poured hot water over the tea leaves, and the smell of lavender and mint rose with the steam. You can’t scare her off.
He arranged the tea on one of the bamboo trays the loft kitchen was stocked with, heading back to the living room.
When he caught sight of her there, standing by the fire, silhouetted by the flames, he felt like the breath had been knocked from him. He could see the gentle curve of her breasts, the light from the fire making her chiffon blouse nearly transparent. He wanted to bury his face between those perfect globes, kiss his way up her collarbone, find every single delicate spot that made her sigh and squirm.
He set the tray down on the coffee table, moving across the room to stand behind her in front of the fire. Her head turned when his hands closed over her shoulders, her profile curving in the firelight.
“Your clothes are still all wet,” he said as his fingers trailed down her arms. She shivered—partly from his touch, partly from the cold—as goose bumps sprinkled across her skin.
His hands hovered at the damp hem of her blouse, waiting for a sign from her, getting it when her fingers brushed against his. He pulled the chiffon over her head and tossed it across the leather armchair. Her skin, smooth and creamy, was bared to him for the first time, and all he wanted to do was put his hands on her.
He ran the backs of two of his fingers down the gentle curve of her spine, the touch stopping at the waist of her skirt, where the zipper started. He stepped forward, closing what little space was between them, her shoulders brushing against his chest as he bent down to whisper in her ear.
“And this?” he asked, playing with the tab of the zipper.
She let out a little breath, an almost gasp that she was clearly trying to hold in. That wouldn’t do. He didn’t want her to hold back.
He wanted to hear every gasp, every moan, feel every tremble and pulse of pleasure.
He smiled, leaning even closer, so the thick press of his cock was right against the luscious roundness of her ass. This time, she couldn’t suppress anything; her breath came sharp and quick. She leaned into him, letting him take her weight as her hand clenched around the solid muscle of his thigh, like she needed an anchor.
He dragged the zipper down, the skirt dropped to the ground.
That’s when he saw it—the tattoo that he’d puzzled over since he met her and realized she had to be hiding whatever pieces she had under her clothes. The splash of color started at her hip and travelled all the way down her thigh, giant blooms of flame red and orange and bright pink.
His cock pressed painfully against the seam of his jeans as he reached out, unable to stop himself from touching her, from tracing the colors inked there. She shivered when his hand—warm and a little callused—settled against her much cooler skin. Goosebumps prickled over her, dotting the poppies. He sank to his knees, touching each flower, each stem, making her breath quicken with each gentle, seeking touch.
He knew it couldn’t be her actual tattooing work because of the angles, but he also knew without having to ask that this was her design. Her art. Her soul.
It was exquisite. Feminine. Strong.
Just like her.
He looked up to see her blushing and realized he had said those last few things out loud. He smiled up at her, appreciating the view from here. She had on a pair of dark pink satin panties and a matching bra, edged in black lace. His fingers settled on the frilly waistband of her panties
. “You know, these are wet, too,” he said very seriously.
Her mouth quirked, knowing exactly what game he was toying with here. But then, to his amusement, her eyes widened a little, playing along. “I wouldn’t want to catch a cold,” she said.
His fingers hooked under the satin, pulling her panties down her legs. She stepped out of them, and then, with her eyes never leaving his, she reached back and unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the ground.
“God, look at you,” he said, his hand trailing from ankle, to knee, to thigh, settling on her hip. She bit her lip, her body almost trembling with coiled tension as his fingers brushed along the neat patch of curls between her thighs. She was so wet already, he knew if he wanted, he could just sink his fingers right into her pussy.
But he had other plans.
He looked up at her, flushed with anticipation, her nipples pebbled and deliciously pink. In one, quick movement, he had her swept up in his arms. She let out a surprised sound that turned into a laugh as he swung her around, laying her gently on the couch.
She stretched out on her side across the couch, propping her head up on her palm as she looked at him, drinking him in with as much intensity as he her. Her lips were a little swollen—from his kisses—and the thought went straight to his cock.
He wanted to fall into her, press her against the couch and touch her everywhere until he knew the exact places to stroke to make her scream and moan.
But instead, he just looked at her, baring herself boldly, beautifully. His eyes trailed over her creamy skin, settling on the splash of color that started at her hip.
He crouched down next to her on the couch, tilting up to kiss her. His hand trailed down the length of her body, swirling around her tattoo, his palm finally coming to settle at her hip.
“I made you some tea,” he rumbled against her cheek, his fingers squeezing where the sumptuous swell of her ass started. He couldn’t wait until she was on top of him, grinding down on his cock as his hands rested on her circling hips, filling her up the way she needed to be. “But now I have another idea.”
He leaned away, grabbing the honey twirler from the small dish he’d set on a stand over a tea-light to warm it. He gathered some of the sticky substance with the small wooden wand and turned back to her. Her blue eyes glowed with anticipation as he trailed streams of honey on her skin, tracing the outlines of the flowers on her hip with the delicate touch of a man who knew how to handle things with care.
She made a sound in the back of her throat as the warm honey hit her hip, her chest rising and falling as he traced one flower, then two, drawing long lines of honey down her skin.
“This is…” she sighed, her eyes floating shut. “You…” She moaned as his mouth pressed against her skin, licking, kissing, the sweetness bursting on his tongue. Her hand came up to grip his hair, her hips jerking restlessly.
“Mmm,” he said, sliding his hands under her hips and flipping her so she was lying against the couch. He drizzled more honey across her stomach, chasing the sweetness with his mouth as she writhed against him, her fingers twisting in his hair. Her thighs flowered opened, and the temptation was too great. A smear of honey along each of her inner thighs, his tongue against the skin, so, so close to where he wanted to be. He could smell her, taste a hint of her along the seam of her thigh, where she was so fucking wet she was practically dripping. He wanted to lick her pussy until she had beard burn on the inside of her thighs, but the noises she was making—desperate little breaths that went straight to his rock-hard cock—were too much. He rose from his crouch, fitting himself over her. Her legs bent, her hips straining to meet his.
“You’re so ready, aren’t you?” He bent down, his mouth capturing one of her nipples, sucking hard. Her fingers threaded through his hair, twisting as he lightly grazed her with his teeth. He lifted up, his eyes locking with hers as his hand stroked down her body to cup her between her thighs, the heel of his palm grinding in slow, maddening circles against her clit. She gasped at the sensation rippling through her, her head tilting back against the couch.
His fingertips slicked through her wetness—God, it was so hot how wet she was, how much she wanted this—circling around her center until she was gasping at the teasing.
“Please,” she sighed between one breath and the next, like speaking was almost too much.
He brought his hand up between them, and his eyes locked on hers as he licked her wetness from his fingers.
She shivered, biting her lip.
“You taste even sweeter,” he told her, his hand dipping back to between her legs, playing with her clit, making her hips twist, sobbing out his name.
“What do you want, honey?” he asked her. She went scarlet at the endearment and he smiled, wondering if she’d go pink every time he said it. He wanted to find out. He loved teasing her. “I’ll do anything you ask. But you’ve gotta say it.”
She squirmed against him, pressing her nipples against his chest, dragging through his chest hair… and fuck, it took everything inside him to not just grab her hips and sink into her over and over until she was pulsing around him.
“Come on,” he coaxed against her ear, reaching down and unbuttoning the button on his jeans, then going for the zipper. The sound was loud in the room, and before he could even shuck his jeans down his ankles, her hand was slipping inside, palming him through his boxer-briefs.
He sucked in a breath, all control, all careful plans fleeing his brain as her fingers curled around his shaft, jacking it sweet and slow through the soft jersey. God, even her hand felt amazing. Her pussy was going to be fucking heaven.
Her fingers dipped into his boxers, her warm grasp closing around the searing length of his cock. He couldn’t stop himself from fucking into her fist a little, the friction, the feel of her skin against his, making his eyes roll.
“Tell me, Cam,” he breathed, begging her to end both of their torment.
He raked his teeth lightly over her collarbone. She arched into him, her hand sliding over the thick length of his cock. Rocking against him, her lips sought and found his, kissing him until she tasted like a mix of honey and her just like he did.
“Please,” she gasped, her nails biting into the skin of his shoulders, carving little half moons there. “Please, James. Fuck me.”
Chapter Seven
Cam
For as long as she lived, she'd remember the feeling of him sliding into her for the first time. Cam's head tilted back, the exquisite stretch of his cock inside her almost too much. It felt so good. Like nothing else she'd ever experienced or imagined. She'd been with big guys before, but James…
James was on a whole other level. He looked at her like making her come was his one mission in life. Like he just wanted to lick her and fuck her and taste her until she was reduced to jelly from multiple orgasms. It made her flush from her head to her toes and her pussy throb around his perfectly thick length.
He murmured her name against her ear, his lips trailing down her neck, his hips working in small thrusts as she adjusted to his thickness. She locked her legs around his waist, tilting her hips up, and he groaned as he slipped deeper into her.
"Fuck, you're so wet," he said, like she was a marvel. He pulled out a little, and she whimpered at the loss, an involuntary sound that had her turning pink and him groaning against her ear, thrusting back into her, giving her what she wanted.
She rocked her hips into his, her hands trailing down his pecs, to his flat stomach, and then skimming down even further, to trace where they were joined, where his cock—soaked with her—was pushing into her. When her fingers touched his slick cock, still working inside her, his rhythm faltered, his thrusts going sloppy as she touched and teased where they were joined together.
"Such a dirty girl," he purred against her ear. "You like watching me fuck into you? You've made me so wet and hard, Cam. I want to fuck you forever."
She shivered, rocking her hips into him, his cock sliding against her G-spot in a way tha
t made her moan loudly as both her arms came up to loop around his neck. She could feel her inner walls rippling around him and she clenched down on the jut of his cock, relishing the intense rush that spread through her. She arched her back and he grabbed her hips, lifting her ass completely up off the couch, holding her like she weighed nothing as he drove into her, his eyes more stormy than she'd ever seen.
The angle tilted her hips up, making the ridged head of his cock rub against her sensitive G-spot, pressing hard against her with each thrust. She lost herself in the sensation. She could feel it building inside her, the tension climbing in her body, seeking release. Her thighs tightened around him, her nipples so hard even the barest touch of his skin against them made her pant, lust darting across her skin to her core.
"Please, James. I need…" She couldn't finish her sentence.
She didn't have to.
He knew what she needed.
He pressed his thumb firmly against her clit, rubbing in fast and hard circles.
She clenched impossibly tight around him, her entire body going taut as her orgasm broke over her. Her toes curled, her leg muscles trembling as he stroked her back, his lips pressed against her pulse point. He held her as she rode through wave after wave of pleasure that rolled through her, making her body shiver and relax in turn as each ripple wrung new thrills from her over-sensitive body.
She clung to him, his warm skin grounding her, and as she slowly slid into the pleasant little aftershocks sparking through her body, he began to move inside her again.
"Oh." She was so sensitive, the first few thrusts almost felt like too much, but then his hand was on her clit again, and she forgot everything else. Surely he didn't think she could…
"That was the hottest thing I've ever seen in my life," he said, his cock pressing into her, agonizingly slow. She couldn't stop herself from tightening around him. It just felt so…
She'd never been multi-orgasmic. Ever. That wasn't going to change… right?
