Her fingers tighten on my wrists like cuffs, and her head tips back on her shoulders. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, and her body shifts in this restless movement akin to a dance. This is India adrift in passion, letting it consume her. And it’s humbling that she has never held back her pleasure from me. Has been uninhibited with me. She’s trusted me with her body.
Now I want more.
I want her heart.
I press my forehead to her chest, right over said organ.
My stomach knots, recognizing and understanding the consequences the pursuit of her will bring. The bomb it will detonate in the relationships in my life—well, just one in particular. And that scares me.
But not having this—not being able to touch her, inhale her jasmine-infused skin, kiss her smooth, brown skin—scares me even more.
That desperation claws at me again, harder now, leaving deep furrows, drawing emotional blood. The urge to mark her, to claim her, wells within me, and I draw her nipple into my mouth, sucking hard, flicking the beaded tip with my tongue. Her hands tunnel through my hair, nails scratching my scalp, scattering pricks of pleasure/pain in their wake. With a moan, I curl my tongue around her, pull harder, and twist and roll the other tip between my fingers.
Fire blazes through my body, lust a relentless task master, a demanding boss. And I obey. Willingly. Switching breasts, I treat the neglected flesh to my mouth, tongue, and teeth, eliciting shudder after shudder from her. My cock aches, pounds, and I grind it against the soft give of her belly, seeking some kind of ease. But it’s fruitless. The kind of alleviation I need can only be found in that sweet, hot, tight pussy.
And I have to get in there.
With a hunger that borders on obsession, I have to get deep inside her.
Once more, I claim her mouth while my hands drop to her joggers. In moments, I’ve pushed them and her panties down her legs, removing the clothing and her sneakers out of the way. My breath saws out of my chest as I stand before this goddess in all her glory.
Belatedly—shit, what does that say about me as an uncle—I remember my niece sleeping upstairs—I cup her hips and move her farther into the living room.
As if she recalls Rose, too, she shakes her head, her hands going to my chest. “Rose?” she whispers.
“Asleep,” I say. “And nothing short of an atomic bomb is waking her up. But come here.” I maneuver her around the end of the couch, away from the room’s entrance. Turning her so she’s facing the sofa’s arm, I curve an arm around her waist and slide the other up her torso, between her breasts, my fingers splayed across her collar bone. “Kiss me.”
She turns her head, resting it on my shoulder, and giving me her mouth. I slip my hand over her hip and between her thighs, finding her soaking wet.
“Goddamn, baby girl,” I growl against her lips, nipping the full bottom curve. “All of this is for me?” Palming her pussy, I thrust two fingers inside her, and those slick, firm walls quiver around me. My cock throbs in complaint. “Tell me, India. This is mine?”
I’m wading into dangerous territory, skimming a crumbling, creaky ledge that, if I were smart, I’d back away from before I tumbled over it.
But I don’t heed that warning. Instead, I thrust harder, press the heel of my palm against her clit and circle it. She pants into my mouth, and I circle harder, press harder, thrust harder.
“Is this mine?” I ask her again.
“Yes,” she whines, gasping when I slam my fingers back into her. “Take it, Asa. Take me. Please.”
How is it possible to get greedier for her, more ravenous? It’s an ache in my gut, and only she can satisfy it. I capture her mouth, fucking it, and slide my hands free of her. She’s all over me, and I lift my head, slipping my fingers between my lips and licking her off my skin. Her taste hits me like a runaway train, and I close my eyes, savoring her musky, delicious flavor. And as seems to be my theme with her, it’s not enough.
I grope at the front of my jeans, jerking the button open and the zipper down.
“Shit,” I mutter, pressing my forehead to her shoulder. “Wait here. Don’t move.”
I shift away from her. My condoms are up in my bedroom since I didn’t expect company tonight. I’m going to break the sound barrier running up those stairs and to my room—
“Hold on.” Her smaller hand clasps mine, stopping me. She stares at me, her lashes momentarily lowering before lifting and her eyes meet mine again. “I’ve never been with anyone without a condom. Never. I’ve never trusted anyone that much. I want to have this first with you.”
I go still. But the lust inside me rages like a rabid beast, hammering and beating against its cage, which happens to be my bones and skin. She wants me inside her. Bare. Nothing between us.
Oh fuck.
“Yes,” I ground out, and yes, it emerges as if my voice had been chewed up in a woodchipper and spit out, but I don’t care. “I’m clean, baby girl. And the thought of sinking in you, feeling nothing but you…” I loose a groan, and cross the very short distance back to her, covering her mouth with mine. In seconds, I have my fist wrapped around my cock, just shoving my jeans down and out of my way. “Take me in, India,” I say.
Plead.
She reaches back and between us and guides me to her… into her.
I hiss as I sink inside her pussy. It was just last night since we were together, and I’ve missed this. Missed that initial resistance then surrender. The wet heat. The vise-like grip. The firm suction. It’s the closest I’ve come to heaven. And if it’s hell, I don’t want my soul to be redeemed.
Curving a hand around the nape of her neck, I press her forward and stroke my palm down her spine, cradling her hip. Staring down at the place where I’m lost, where I’m home, I draw back, watching how my cock glistens with her wet, feeling and hearing how her pussy reluctantly frees me. With a moan, I plunge forward, branding on my brain the sight of her taking me, swallowing me whole, just in case something happens and I can’t have this anymore.
Over and over, I pull back only to drive forward, riding her, attempting to brand myself on her sex, her body, and her heart. With every thrust, every one of her muted cries, the lust whipping and tearing at me screams louder, threatening to rip me apart. I need to come, to let go. But not without her.
Slipping a hand over her hip and between her hips and the arm of the couch, I rub a fingertip over her clit. She writhes against me, and I don’t let up, following her, circling, caressing… pinching.
She goes off, exploding, her pussy clamping down on my cock, milking me, dragging my release from me. For several more strokes, I hold on, ensuring she receives all that she needs. Deserves. Then, on that last piston into her tight-as-fuck sex, I free fall after her.
Knowing at the bottom, we’ll catch each other.