He was already leaking and she used the fluid to lubricate her strokes. “I want to be inside you more.”
“We should do that then.” She added a twist to the motion of her hand and his knees buckled.
“Get on the bed, Flick, before this is the most disappointing sexual encounter of your life.”
She ducked under his arms and went to the bed. He got rid of his pants and got a condom.
She sat in the middle, with the covers pulled back and her leg outstretched. “Your bed smells like wood chips.”
“It’s the soap.”
“I want it to smell of sex.”
“I think we can do it.”
“That won’t be too messy for you?”
He reached over the bed and took her by the ankles and dragged her to the end, bringing the covers with her. She fell back, laughing. He’d give her messy. Wet, dripping, sheet-tearing, throat-straining messy. He’d make her sweat and squirm and chase her high like she had last night, only this time he’d be ready to follow her, ready to repeat it, till neither of them could take it anymore.
None of that was messy to him. It was good and pure and right, and with a person you cared about it was powerful, grounding, uplifting. With a person who thrilled you, like Flick thrilled him, it was an unknown quantity, an adventure on a trail he’d not yet walked and wasn’t familiar with. There could be fallen trees ahead, crumbling sides, danger, but hell, that was half the fun.
Flick jerked her leg and he let go of her ankles. She came up on her elbows, her body was laid out for him to play with. “What are you looking at, Tom O’Connell?”
“My evening’s entertainment.”
“You sure know how to flatter a girl.”
He went to his knees. “If I thought you were after flattery, I’d bake you a cake.”
“You can do that after we call for a pizza.”
“Spread your legs.”
She groaned, bent her knees and opened them out. Her hair was trimmed neat and close; she glistened inside.
“All that pretty pink is for me.” He stroked a finger through her and her hips tilted. He did it again—slower, with more pressure—and she dropped her shoulders back to the bed, reaching for a pillow to prop herself up. She wanted to watch. He wouldn’t be satisfied until she couldn’t.
That first taste was all about watching her face, her mouth opening, her eyes pinned wide, listening to her breath catch. He slipped his hands under her ass and lifted her so his access was unrestricted. A few strong licks in, she’d reached for his hair, then came the gasps and murmurs, the involuntary twitch of her hips and her thighs clamping around him.
He pushed her knees back and stopped teasing, moved to sucking, the occasional graze of his teeth. He didn’t know if it was enough—he wanted her trembling, moaning. He got that when he added a finger, a firm upward nudge and release of her clit. Her sigh bottomed out into a gasp, and she yanked on his hair and her eyes slammed shut. Now he had her. He kept the rhythm up while she got breathless and desperate, and when she came, she thrashed, bucked and stiffened. He licked and stroked her through it, and while she was drifting, sat back and wiped his mouth.
“You’re a trip, Flick Dalgetty.”
She opened her arms. “Come fly with me.”
He crawled over her, knelt across her legs. “First class.”
“Mile high.” She watched him suit up, her hands gripping his thighs. “I want to ride you. Do you like a woman on top?”
He lowered over her, the shock of their skin meeting making him lose the conversation. He tucked his face into her neck, skimmed his hands up her body. Heat came off her in waves, and she smelled of the soft leather jacket she’d worn. God, he was so ready, ground against her pelvis, and with one hand under her knee, lowered himself into position.
“Roll.” She bit his ear and he rolled them.
From above she used her hand to take him inside, rocking up and down on her knees, a hand flattened on his chest for balance. He held her waist and let her run the show, but he couldn’t stop his hips bouncing. It became a pattern, bucking into her smooth, wet slickness, dissolving into her tight softness. The plan to watch her face got lost as soon as he felt her contract around him and shake through her peak. He sank inside his own head, focused on the buildup, the need, the quick hot spark up his spine and the flash of light across his closed eyes.
At some point in all that he eased her forward, tucked her head under his chin. Their breathing was chopped up and he wrapped her more firmly, wanting to contain the heavy peace of the moment before he questioned it.
When he cleared his throat to speak she stopped him with a kiss, another, another, until he quit worrying she wouldn’t like the taste of them. Rolling her to the side let him withdraw. He didn’t want to leave the bed and she didn’t want him to, clinging with a leg thrown over his hip and a hand to the back of his head.