Page 86 of Burning Embers
I find Olly leaning against the kitchen counter, staring at his feet. He looks up when he sees me and smiles. I stop next to him and he pulls me into his chest.
We sway to the sound of music playing from the kitchen radio.
Contented, I sigh, moulding into his body. “Thank you for today,” I say.
“You don’t have to thank me, I had fun.”
He continues to hold me in his arms for long moments until, reluctantly, he pulls away. “I need to get going,” he says.
“I wish you didn’t have to.”
“Same, but I’ll see you Monday?” His fingers caress my cheek, the simple touch warming me all over.
“Definitely.” Now that this fight is out of the way, I know he will have a little bit more free time. It’s hard juggling our relationship with our shifts and Molly, but we seem to be making it work for the most part.
I walk him to the door, and before he goes, I’m rewarded with a scorching kiss, my body tingling with want and anticipation. I let out a squeak of satisfaction, and he lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist, my back against the wall.
“Let me take care of you before I leave?” he asks, grinding into me.
I think I nod because he walks us into the bathroom and closes the door behind us with his foot.
He sets me on my feet and spins me so my back is to his chest. Other than our hurried breathing, he doesn’t speak as his fingers work their way to the top of my trousers before he slides them down and ushers me to step out of them.
I go to turn around, but he shakes his head, flicking his eyes to the mirror, his reflection full of desire. “Put your hands on the sink,” he says.
I do, my heart racing. The sound of him pushing his jeans down has me peering over my shoulder. The cool air caresses my skin as he lifts my top. Goosebumps of anticipation break out as he strokes his length along my lower back.
“Lean forward,” he says, his foot spreading my legs slightly.
He takes hold of my hip with one hand and moves until he’s positioned himself between my thighs. His hand comes around, and he strokes over my clit as I lean my head back and close my eyes.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
I roll my head to the side until my lips catch his, and I breathe my answer into his mouth. “Yes.”
“I’m going to take you from behind,” he says, pushing my back away from his chest. My breath catches as a hot, raw need flows through my body at the sound of his commanding voice. “Keep watching me,” he says, looking at our reflection in the mirror.
I’m completely exposed to him at this moment. He’s in control; I’m at his mercy. All my senses are heightened. The anticipation of knowing he is about to enter me has my pulse raising, my mouth watering. His calloused hands roam over my hips, his fingers digging into my skin.
His eyes hold me captive in the mirror, the blue fierce and intense as he continues to stare at me, his swollen erection pressing closer to my entrance. I inhale his scent, a heady mix of sandalwood and the musk of his arousal.
Heat consumes me when he rolls his hips and thrusts inside. I stifle my groan, biting my lip not to scream out, forcing myself to keep eye contact with him through the mirror.
I clamp around him as he fills me. His soft grunts as he pounds into me, his eyes focused on mine—it’s too much. Does he know what he does to me? How he’s infiltrated my heart and soul?
My orgasm climbs with every thrust of his hips, and I know it’s there, on the precipice.
“Keep watching me,” he demands, and with those three words, my climax ricochets through me, tears springing to my eyes. His release follows, hard and fast. He grunts and strains from the force of his own orgasm.
He wraps me in his arms and pulls me into his chest, kissing my neck.
“Rachel, you’ve ruined me,” he says, his hold on me tightening.
“Aha.” It’s the only response I can articulate at present. He chuckles, and it vibrates through me.
“Thank you,” he says before gently sliding out of me and reaching for a flannel. He holds it under the tap until the water is warm, then wrings it out before cleaning me between my legs.
I stop him and turn, taking it from him to wipe his still semi-hard length. He tugs up his jeans and buttons them while I slip on the dressing gown I keep on the back of the door.
