Page 53 of Sweet Ache (Driven 6)
So I step into my bedroom with confidence and when Hawkin’s hands immediately find my waist and pull me back into the muscled heat of his chest, I close my eyes and allow myself to memorize the feel of his embrace before he renders my body senseless and my thoughts incoherent. He’s already hard for me and I’m so turned on by the fact that I haven’t said a word to him, I haven’t shed my clothes, and yet he’s ready.
His hands begin to move over my torso. They snake under my tank top, and I gasp in a breath at the feeling of skin on skin, at the sensation of rough to smooth that tells me this is real, this is about to happen. He smooths his hands up my rib cage so that my tank pulls up with them, and he cups my breasts as he goes. We both moan in unison as his fingers brush over my nipples. I gasp out as sensation swamps me, my head rolling back onto his shoulder behind me as I surrender my body to his hands, my emotions to his manipulations, and absorb the pleasure he’s giving me.
He rubs my nipples between his fingers and thumbs through the lace of my bra before continuing to slide my tank up to my shoulders. He gestures for me to lean my head forward and he lifts my tank over my head but lowers it over my arms, stopping it so that they are held in place.
Chills race over my body; the ache he’s building inside me intensifies with each touch feeling like a pleasurable pain. My sex throbs with each beat of my pulse and my muscles tense to prevent myself from twisting around, ripping the tank top off and jumping him. God yes I want him with every fiber of my being, but there’s something innately arousing about turning yourself over to someone. Trusting someone with your body, your sexual pleasure, openly handing them your vulnerability—it’s all a very intoxicating feeling.
Add to that the lack of any words between us. Our only communication is the dance of his fingers over my sensitized flesh. Hands urging in silent command, minds running wild.
He draws in a ragged breath from behind me and I love the thought that he’s just as affected. Hawke’s hands begin to move back down my body now, sliding between my breasts where he unclasps my bra before moving to my back and down the length of my spine to unzip my skirt. It falls to the floor and pools around my feet so that I’m wearing nothing but a fuchsia lace thong with nude heels and a tank top holding my arms motionless.
My skin is hot, the air is cool, and his breath feathers over my neck in a whisper of a touch. My thoughts forget the notion of the casual sex I told myself I could have with him because I already know that there is no turning back now as he runs his palms back to my abdomen so that his fingers dip beneath the band of my panties. He lowers them to the top of my cleft, parting me slightly so that his fingertips graze the top of my clit, causing my pelvis to buck into his hand as I beg for more.
The chuckle he gives me in reaction spurs me on, tells me he likes a woman to react, and good thing because I’m not one to take my passion quietly. Then his lips press lightly to the curve of my shoulder in an unexpected action that feels surprisingly intimate and coaxes a soft moan from my lips.
The heat of his body against my back disappears as he takes a step away but his hands command me to stay still when I try to turn toward him. His calloused fingertips begin to trace over my body: up my rib cage, skimming the underside of my breasts before heading up the midline of my chest, and then tracing the line of my collarbone out to my shoulders.
There’s something about the way that he’s touching me, almost as if he’s learning the lines of my body like he would an instrument. It’s intimate, sensual, and languorous, like he wants to take the time getting to know me before he claims me. It’s surprisingly erotic and not what I’ve ever experienced in a first-time encounter with someone who hasn’t already professed his love for me.
I push the thought from my head, ignore the questions his actions evoke: Is he always like this? Is he like this because he wants more? Parts of my psyche hold on to the hope that I know I’ll need after tonight is over and decide to focus on the fact that he needs to fuck me soon. My body’s on fire and so attuned to his touch that when he finally does I’m going to come in a matter of seconds.
The scrape of strong fingers up the curves of my shoulders, featherlight touches up the base of my neck and into my hair, quiet my thoughts, tell me to shut it down and enjoy the moment. My head falls forward and I moan in ecstasy as he kneads my muscles softly. His hands begin a seductive descent down my shoulder blades to the swell above my butt before slipping his fingers into the fabric at my hips. He pushes my panties down the length of my legs—slow and purposeful—smooth and rough in a devastating one-two punch to my nerves. I lift my feet as they fall and then stand motionless, our excited breathing the only sound in the room.
I’m not sure at what point he silently requested that I not speak and I decided to comply, but the combination only adds to the sexual tension snapping through the air. The notion that I am at his every whim heightens the sensations.
I stand motionless, Hawkin still behind me, and yet he’s not touching me. Curiosity and desire wage a feudal war within me as I debate whether to turn around and take what I want or to play out this little game that has me willing to beg if he doesn’t touch me soon.
And I don’t beg.
His fingertips begin again, whispering a trail up my inseam, gentle pressure urging my legs farther apart. I suck in a breath as the cool air of the room bathes the heated skin between my thighs. He brushes his hands ever so slightly over me before they once again leave my body.
I close my eyes, wondering where to next, while goose bumps race over my skin in expectancy as I hear him move behind me. And I find out quick enough when I feel the warmth of his mouth on the nape of my neck again. Desire mainlines from everywhere within me as his fingertips touch the apex of my thighs, causing that sweet, pleasurable ache to burn with a heightened intensity.
He presses close against my back again, his erection thick against me. “Open your mouth,” he commands, his voice sending chills down my spine.
I part my lips without hesitancy and he murmurs in approval before slipping two fingers between my lips.
“Suck.”
How can that single word evoke such a visceral reaction from my body? Nipples hardening to the point of pain, my sex swelling, my mouth reacting. I respond, body vibrating with the desire that increases with each passing moment.
“Do you have any idea how bad I want you right now? I’m hard as a rock and it’s taking everything I have to not lay you down on your bed and fuck you into oblivion,” he says in a pained voice that only turns me on more knowing he’s suffering as desperately as I am. “You deserve better than that, Quinlan, and fuck if it’s not taking everything I have to give that to you…. I’ve never wanted to be more selfish than I do right now.”
His teeth nip my shoulder, which causes me to open my mouth where his fingers still remain. His words stoke the flames of desire even brighter knowing that I matter enough to him in whatever this is to try to give me what I deserve.
I begin to respond, to tell him Thanks but right now all I want is you in me, on me, pleasuring me, but he stops me. “Uh-uh, don’t talk.” His mouth brushes against my ear, that raspy rhythm an audible pheromone. “Right now I’m going to take these fingers and fuck you with them. I’m going to lick your clit and finger fuck you into a frenzy until you’re just about to climax. I’ll hold you there. Make you ride that fine line between frustration and desire. Make you beg, make you moan, make you scream my name. And then I’ll stop because I want to be in you when you come.”
I close my eyes and let his words sink in, allow my body the visceral r
eaction—the sudden tensing up and then slow release of muscles—as I wait in that suspended state of hazy desire for him to begin. He crosses his free arm over my chest, lower rib cage to opposite shoulder, and pulls me roughly against the front of him so that there is no mistaking his want of me. His chuckle reverberates against my back and into me. “Oh, believe me. I know you think you’ll come even if I stop but, sweetness, I assure you, you won’t until I’m in you. You’ll hate me, then love me and fuck if when you come it won’t be the strongest orgasm you’ll ever have.” He runs the tip of his tongue along the side of my neck, making me forget my thoughts of how he knew what I was thinking. “Now bend over and get ready to beg.”
He withdraws his fingers from my mouth, murmuring an approval as I obediently lean forward and place my chest onto the top of the mattress. And the funny thing is most of the time I’d tell a guy to screw off if he was going to give me orders, deny me my orgasm, and not let me touch—this girl likes to give just as good as she gets—but there is something about Hawkin that makes me want to earn the orgasm he gives me.
“Damn, woman,” he murmurs the moment the finger I’ve just wet with my mouth slides between the already slick lips of my sex. My body is so on edge from this foreplay that there is no way he’ll be able to stop my orgasm because the beginning of it is already bearing down on me like a freight train and he’s barely touched me.
I feel him against my knees and it takes me a minute and a glance down to realize that he sat down on the floor, his back against the foot of the bed I’m bent over so that his face is right where it needs to be. He positions his hands so that when he grabs the roundness of my ass and pulls gently, the tips of his fingers skim over the backside of my cleft. The sensation is strangely arousing but it’s taken to all new heights when his mouth closes over my pleasure. His tongue splits me and slides down to where his fingers have now pressed their way inside me.
The cry falls from my lips, my hands fist, and I work the tank top that’s still holding my arms hostage up some so that I can bend my arms and fist them in the top of his hair. Pleasure swamps me, owns me, and has me begging for more. “Oh God Hawke.” They’re the first words that I speak in I don’t know how long but they’re all I need to say because I’m swamped with sensations.
