Page 100 of Faking It
He emits a low whistle as his eyes darken with desire, roaming over every stitch of lace and expanse of bare skin. “Now that is definitely worth the extra time you saved me.”
“Zane—”
“Shh,” he whispers as he steps forward and then to the back of me. His breath is on my shoulder as the rattle of his belt followed by the tug of a zipper joins the sound of my ragged breath. “You’re incredibly sexy,” he whispers into my ear. “But you already know that.” He trails the tip of his finger down the line of my spine. “You turn me on in ways that continue to surprise me.” My breath hitches as his lips press to the dip right above the swell of my butt. “Like right here. It’s incredibly sexy on you.” He takes his tongue and trails a line up my back to the nape of my neck. “Or right here,”—he scrapes his teeth over my skin and chills chase each other all over my body. “With you, it’s fucking everything.” His hands slide over my skin. “I just want to touch you everywhere.”
Seduction by touch. First to my ass where he palms and then squeezes it. Then up my torso to cup my breasts as he lays a row of kisses down the line of my shoulder before ever-so-softly pinching my nipples between his thumb and forefinger. A shocked gasp falls from my lips as my body jerks in absolute awareness.
His hands then continue down the front of my abdomen straight to between my thighs. I widen my stance when his finger pulls my panties to the side and delve beneath them.
“Are you wet for me, Harlow? Do I turn you on? Do you want me as badly as I want you right now?”
“What do you feel?” I murmur as his one hand parts me and with the other, his fingers slide inside to find me slick for him. The sound he emits alone when he feels me wet is enough to make me come.
He plays with me. Taunts me. Teases me. Has me squirming into his hand and begging for more but won’t give it to me.
Just little pieces at a time. An open mouth kiss just below my ear. A rub of a finger pad over my clit. A nip of teeth on my shoulder. A dip of his fingers inside of me. The scrape of his chin along my back.
“Zane,” a moaned request that has him chuckling as his fingers dive into me again. My fingernails dig into his forearm to both ask him to stop and beg him for more.
I clasp my fingers over his wrist and direct his arm up and under my arm so that I can slide his fingers into my mouth. I suck on them, turned on by the taste of myself wanting him and between his groan, “Good God, woman,” and his cock, thick and hard against my backside.
“I want you,” I say aloud, while his actions say the same.
I turn to kiss him. To tell him in the only way I know how that I’ve fallen for him. In framed faces and dancing tongues and tugs on hair and fingers closing around his cock.
“Let me,” I murmur as I push him down on the chaise lounge and climb over him. With my legs astride his, I line him up at my entrance and just before I slide over him, his hands flash out and grab my hips.
“Hey,” he says, prompting my eyes to flash up to meet his, but he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me with an intensity that I can’t decipher but that I want to. It’s equal parts desire and lust and fear and something else I can’t put my finger on but that makes my heart suddenly beat out of my chest.
“What is it?”
A ghost of a smile plays on his lips and he subtly shakes his head
. “I just wanted to look at you like this,” he murmurs.
Emotion wars with desire in me. Wanting to know why out of all the times we’ve had sex, this is the first time he’s ever said anything that clashes with the ache burning through my entire body to have him.
Live in the now, Low.
And so with my eyes locked on his, I sink inch by gloriously torturous inch onto him. I make our bodies one until the initial pleasure of feeling each other is so strong that we both close our eyes to simply enjoy the sensation.
“Fuck that feels good,” he groans as his fingers tighten on the flesh of my hips and I begin to rock them over him. Bit by bit. Then a little faster. And then with a little more command.
A grind of my hips onto his so he bottoms out inside of me. God, yes. A rise back up so I’m just teasing his tip and hitting all the spots I need hit. That feels good. A slam back down without warning. Again. His hands palming my breasts. Faster. His lips closing over mine as I ride him. Harder.
There’s a quiet desperation between us. In our touches. In the unspoken pause when our eyes meet and he reassures me with a soft smile, in the passion of our kisses, in the plea in our voices.
I’m so busy trying to please him that I’m caught off guard when the freight train of my orgasm bears down on me. My hips jerk as my body tenses and my fingers dig into his biceps as the euphoria washes over me in wave after wave of sensation.
The damn man is a saint, trying to hold out, to keep everything as is so I can ride out my climax but I can feel the minute he loses control. His fingers tighten on my hips and he holds me still as he thrusts upwards as fast and hard as he can. Within seconds he’s groaning my name and tightening every muscle in his body as he chases his own bliss into mine.
He’s magnificent to watch—his expression, how his muscles flex, how his whole body becomes a slave to those few seconds of pleasure. To know I did that to him.
His hands pull me down so that I lay upon his chest, bodies still joined. His arms slide around me and just hold me there, skin to skin, his lips pressed to the crown of my head as our hearts and breaths decelerate.
“Can we just stay here forever?” he murmurs, the heat of his breath hitting my scalp as his thumb brushes back and forth against my back.
Comfort. Adoration. Desperation. Fear. Love.
