Page 65 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
And then our patience slowly evaporates. The tenderness of the kiss turns from want to need. From tentativeness to greed. From wait-and-see to now-or-never.
There’s a desperate hunger in his actions now. A nonverbal demand for more. While our teeth nip at each other, soft sighs intersperse the definitive moans of desire. With one hand cradling the back of my head, his other grabs my ass so he can grind himself against me.
The ache burns bright as we dance together and push our willpower to the point of no return. And then it’s gone.
Lost to the seduction.
Forgotten in our mutual need.
It’s like a switch is flipped in both of us simultaneously. Our kiss turns more possessive. Our bodies fixated on the next step, the next high, the next connection.
My hands are on the button of his jeans. His palms cup my breasts. His tongue licks a line down the curve of my shoulder before his teeth take a playful nip there. My hands are covered by his so we can push his jeans down together. And I know I’ve seen his dick before, but hell if the feel of his erection rebounding up when it’s released from the confines of the denim doesn’t make my breath hitch.
I don’t get much time to think about its hardness resting against my lower belly because Zander pushes me backward so that the backs of my knees hit the mattress. With his mouth on mine, derailing all other thoughts, he directs me back onto the bed. We move in unison. Our bodies responding to each other’s demands without any forethought about it.
I’m on my back across the bed, Zander’s knees frame my hips, his hands braced on either side of my head, and he leans back to look in my eyes. With my mouth still vibrating from his kisses, a slow, crooked smile lifts up the corner of his.
“Do you know how hard it is to do this and not take a step back to admire you naked and lying here in my bed? I know you’re scared. Know you’ve been hurt. And I know you worry about what I’m going to think of you. That I might compare you to other women. Listen to me when I say this, Getty. I’m. Not. Him. There is no history in this room. No history between us. Just here. Just now. Just you and me. And fuck yes, I want you more than I’ve wanted anyone in as long as I can remember. God, you’re sexy as sin. I’m kind of wishing you had those knee-high socks on right now.”
The smile on my lips is instantaneous. His attempt to soothe my fears and then make me relax reminds me why I’m here with him, despite knowing this can go nowhere. I push the thought away. Focus on the here and now and how he’s making me feel. Worthy, sexy, and wanted for the first time in forever.
How he’s worshipping me with his slow, sweet seduction.
I let out a laugh as I think about his fixation on the socks. And then it turns into a desperate moan when one of his hands slides between my thighs as he shifts on his knees to push my legs apart.
With featherlight touches he runs his fingertips up one thigh, over my lower belly, and then down the other. After doing that a few times, he trails them up the insides of my parted thighs so just a whisper of a touch is felt along the outside of my sex. Each time he traces the same path, his touch becomes a little firmer, his fingers more intent.
He sits on his knees, face angled down, watching my body tense in anticipation of his touch. When he lifts his eyes, a shadow blankets one side of his face, but the intensity of his gaze blazes through the moonlit darkness.
“There are so many things I want to do to you, Getty. We’ll get to all of them. I want to dip my mouth down and taste you. Spread your pussy, use my hands and my tongue to work you into a frenzy until you come. I want the lights on. So I can look into your eyes and see your face when you lose yourself to the things I do to you. So you can’t hide from me. Or from you. I want to look down as you wrap your lips around my dick and look up with your mouth full of me. I want you on top. So I can have your tits in my mouth and my fingers on your clit while you move however you need to so you can come. I want you bent over on your knees so I can grab your ass as I work you from behind.” His eyes burn bright as he leans forward to make sure I can see him.
And I can see him all right. Dark hair, clear eyes, and teeth biting into his bottom lip, he’s a damn Adonis leaning over me, stealing my thoughts and awakening every part of me that has been dead for so very long.
“I want you on the kitchen counter, the patio, in your bed, in the woods. I’ll take you anywhere you’ll have me, Getty, because you make me want you that bad, and I’m not a man who wants much at all. So when you doubt whatever it is you’ll doubt when we’re finished here, I want you to remember this. All of it. Because I will deliver on that promise. I’m here to prove I’m a man of my word and with you is no different.”
His words are as suggestive as his touch. I never knew you could be seduced by words alone and yet I’m seduced. Dragged under the spell of explicit promises that don’t feel cheap or false. I’m ready. Willing. Desperate. For him to put any of those plans into action.
“But first this.” He leans down and kisses me with reverence before pulling back. “First, we take it slow.”
His hands run down my torso, thumbs brushing over the undersides of my breasts. His tongue traces a circle over my nipple. Then he closes his mouth over it and sucks. My hands grab at the sheets beneath me while I gasp.
“We take our time.”
The tip of his tongue slides down the midline of my abdomen. An openmouthed kiss. Another tempting pass of his tongue as he licks a circle around my belly button. My shaky inhalation fills the room.
“I want to show you that sex isn’t about being good or bad at it but about finding the right rhythm. The right pace.”
He runs the tip of his nose back up my stomach between my breasts as his fingers find their way to my inner thighs and slide between the lips of my sex to the wetness at its core. Our sounds grow loud enough to fill the room—his guttural groan and my gasping moans—as a rush of warmth overwhelms every part of me from his lips teasing the underside of my jawline and his fingers gently adding friction over my clit.
“It’s about having patience.”
He murmurs against the sensitive skin of my neck as my hips shift and lift. And beg for more. My breath grows fainter. My concentration is on the sensations his fingers are evoking rather than remembering how to breathe. Because doing both is a struggle when he tucks his fingers into me and begins to move them in a slow rhythm that matches the kisses he laces over my skin.
“It’s about being selfless. Wanting your partner to get off just as badly as you want to. Knowing satisfaction comes in more ways than just the endgame.”
His warm mouth on my earlobe. His adept fingers inside me. The perfect amount of pressure and friction. My head falls back. My legs tense up. My lips part. My mind abandons any thought but him. Zander. And what he’s doing to me. Indescribable.
Mind distracted from the doubt. Body brought to that brink of free fall from his erotic and intimate mix of words and actions.
