Double Your Pleasure Bundle (56 page)

He beams into my lips, his cheeks filling with the grin and pushing until they brush mine, skin on skin, tantalizing me with a craving for the rest of his skin. My arms are caught between us, and his jawline and cheeks are the only part I can reach. So I savor what I have, memorizing the contours of his face with fingertips and lips.

I haven't spent this long simply kissing someone since my teens. No—scratch that.
Ever
. I had a few hesitant pecks, maybe a daring French kiss or two, when I was young, but by the time I was dating guys steadily, they were older, more experienced, and already bored of the whole thing. So it progressed quite a bit faster. What was the point in an extended makeout session, when we could just go all the way?

The slow burn is new—it runs hotter than any other tease I've found. No dirty talk, not accidental brushes building to intentional caresses...nothing can compete with the simple intimacy of Lucas's arms around me, and his tongue darting against mine, reminding me of all the
other
things I know he can make me feel, with the right inclination. Lucas has always made me feel cared for, loved. Only now, he's using his body to do it. That's unsettling, but gratifying.

“Well isn't that pretty as a picture?”

I glance up, startled. When the hell did Seth come in?

“Relax. I'm out again—I just had to run back home for something. Didn't want you guys to wonder who was wandering around the place. But I'm interrupting. Back to your regularly scheduled humping.” He offers a mocking salute, turns on his heel, and leaves.

Seeing Lucas's blush, I can't help but chuckle. And Seth's usual slightly acidic manner... “Smartass,” I grumble under my breath. Lucas nods, his nose grazing mine.

And then the cycle begins again as he silences me with his lips. His hands trace up my shoulders, gently, a far cry from the absolute
need
he touched me with last night. I lose myself in the thousands of sensations he elicits, from my hair shifting under his touch, to his fingers against my skin, to the pull of my muscles as he nips my lip and I arch into him.

With that arch, he gives up any pretense of gentility. His arms catch around me, holding me in place, and my breath flutters as he rolls, planting himself on top of me. My legs lock around him, clutching him to me, refusing to let him keep even a little of his weight for himself. I gasp for breath and press against the wall of muscle above me.

He nips at my collarbone and places a trail of kisses along my neck and chest, taking particular time in the valley of my breasts. I tug his hair, begging for him to take more. My nipples tighten at just the thought of his mouth on them, and my flimsy slip is no barrier at all. He shifts, freeing one of his hands to roll one of the peaks between thumb and forefinger.

His cock is straining to burst free of his pants, and pressed tight against my center. I grind myself against him, already dreaming of his flesh against mine, and the way he felt in me. A soft moan works free from his throat, and he bucks against me harder. I don't want to give up a single sensation—not my nipple pinched in his fingers, or his hard length reminding me of what's to come, nor his breath on my neck. I manage to get a hand between us to undo the catch on his jeans, but even the mental focus needed to manipulate it is beyond me. All I can do is mouth his name, and
please
, like a prayer, hoping that he has more wits than I do.

Pain blooms in my neck as he nips at me, and his cock jumps at my cry. His fingers tighten on my nipple and even in
that
pain is a kind of spontaneity that only makes me hungrier for him. “
Fuck
, Lee, you drive me insane,” he gasps, and I redouble my efforts to pop the pesky snap. Finally, he catches on and reaches for it, his hand brushing mine and igniting
more
sparks. He makes short work of it, though, and the zipper, too. His hand brushes against my inner thighs as he works, and I stifle a moan, to have him so close to me but so far from where I need him. The rough denim rubbing against me falls away, replaced by cotton boxers. Hardly a fitting barrier, from the wet spot he's already left. When he's shimmied the jeans low enough to be out of the way, his hand returns to my inner thigh, stroking me lightly. My legs loosen from his waist, to open myself fully to his touch, and he takes his sweet goddamn time making it to my pussy. “No underwear?”

“Pshh. You know me better than that.” I lose the rest of my thought process as his thumb trails moisture from my pussy to my clit, and starts massaging the moisture in in loose, slick circles. My limbs go slack, my nerves crying for more.

He doesn't respond, his eyes fixed on my face, taking in every hint of reaction he gets from me. It should make me self-conscious, but it only makes me burn for him more. I want to give him what he's looking for in my face, in my noises. That's par for the course with me—I'm a people pleaser—but what puts the urge over the top is looking in his eyes and seeing the exact same thing. As much as I want him to be as impatient as I am, he has all the time in the world so long as he thinks there's something else he should take the time to give me.

It's nice being pampered like this, being the object of his focus. It's a change from most of the people I deal with. And I'm not gonna give it up. The thought that I'm around people who
see
me repeats itself in my head, in Lucas's intense stare. Another moan pushes through my lips, and it's all I can do to keep my eyes open, keep them on Lucas.

Lucas speeds his rhythm up, the circles and flicks gaining momentum and energy, sending the fire roaring from my belly to my heart. Tears prick in my eyes, and his widen. He starts to pull his hand away, but I put mine over it, keeping his fingers on my sex. “It's—it's okay,” I reassure him, as calmly as I can.

Still, he pulls away, sinking to the bed next to me and wrapping his arm around me. I curl into his chest, and kiss his neck, abandoning his efforts to hold his hand in place. His pulse pounds beneath my lips, every bit as fast as my own, and I'm determined not to break the moment. I sit up, lean until I can reach the dresser drawer with my condoms, and nearly overbalance. He reaches for me, and his arm around my waist tugs me back at the last moment. I fall backward and separate a condom from the string, twirling it in my fingers to lighten things.

He folds my hand over it, holding my gaze, rather than accepting it.

“Don't worry about it.” I take another stab at reassurance, this time with more confidence. I let go of the condom and it drops to the bed. But I seize the hem of his shirt and pull it up. “I want this.”

Lucas takes the hint and sits up enough to pry the shirt off. He kicks his pants the rest of the way off, and his boxers follow. His skin is heated, and beckons me. I surround myself in it, kicking my leg over him and pressing my face into his chest. I can't conceal the smile spreading across my face.

“I do too. I—
fuck
—I want you. But why were you crying?”

I shrug. “It was really nothing. It's just—you touch me like you need me to like it, like you need me to be happy. Not just that it feeds your ego if I am. That's not something I'm used to. It's like—all my life I've sneered at the phrase 'lovemaking'.
Lovemaking
. It's silly. It doesn't roll off the tongue; it doesn't reflect the world. The most useless phrase I'd ever heard. Sex is amazing, but it's not love. I—I think I thought it was
completely
separate. Not just
often
separate.”

I twist until my back is to him. I don't really like looking him in the eye when I'm showing weakness. It's so much easier to talk when we're in the car, and there's only so much he can focus on me. I don't know why I'm afraid of the scrutiny, but just now, I
am
. The kind of fear that comes with a tightened throat and light head. The kind that it hurts to have other people see.

He shifts to match me, his lanky frame wrapping around me completely. His legs tangle with mine, and his arm drapes over my ribs. “And?”

“And this—it's intimidating. You and Seth touch me like you love me.” I listen for a few moments, in case Seth's still looking for whatever he was looking for earlier. But the house is quiet. “For him, I can maybe justify it as infatuation, or me reading into things. He and I barely know each other. I don't know if he has any siblings. He doesn't know about my family. But you—you
know
me. And you
still
want to touch me like that.”

There's a smile in his voice when he responds. “I do.”

“So that's why I...”

He finishes the sentence for me. “That's why you cried.”

His arm tenses, compressing my ribs, and then he releases me to search for the abandoned condom in front of me.

“That's why I cried,” I echo him, suppressing a shiver at the difference between his tone and mine. Where I
still
can't say the words without embarrassment, the idea that I've done something
wrong
by opening myself that way, his voice has nothing but warmth.

His hand skims along my side, condom in hand, and I itch its trail absentmindedly, as the foil scratches my skin. I'm drunk on his skin against mine, but I can't bring myself to pull off my slip, not when I'm already emotionally bared to him.

He pulls aware from me and I don't look. Not when I'm still on the edge of exposing something I'm not sure I'm ready to share, yet. When he returns, warm flesh sheathed in still-cool latex presses between my legs, ready for action but not pushing for it. He pulls my face toward him for a kiss, and I obey grudgingly.

“Sorry. I put you on the spot, didn't I?” He knows me too well. He knows I play things close to my chest when I can.

“Just a little. It's fine.” I try to put on my bravest smile before I twist to throw the expression over my shoulder where he can see it.

“No talk then. At least, not from you.” He smooths my hair back from my face, and presses a kiss to my temple. “Not until after I've felt you around me, again. Felt your cunt milk me when you come.”

His words steal my breath—I
love
the way he says cunt, like it's something powerful. “I can't wait.” Nor can I muster any shame for the breathless timbre of my voice.

His fingers slide between my legs, finding me still wet from his earlier attentions. “I won't make you.” He grins, and this morning's overheard conversation replays in my mind.

“Thought you didn't talk dirty. You kiss your mom with that mouth?”

He stiffens, and I curse myself for bringing her up, even offhandedly. “Well, when it gets
that
kind of reaction...” He plays it lightly, to my relief, and nips my shoulder. I arch my back, whether to get my shoulder away from him or bring more of me in reach, I'm not sure.

He chuckles, but it turns to an inarticulate groan as he adjusts himself at my entrance, easing my slip up around my waist, and pushes into me, one slow thrust at a time. I clutch him as best I can, my ankles hooking around his to beg him to lever himself deeper. A strangled mew leaves my lips—
where the hell did
that
come from?
—when I succeed, and his cock hits the right spot deep inside me.

His hand slides out from between us, and he returns it to its place around my ribs so he can catch my hand. He wiggles until the other arm, the one he's lying on, is around me too, and both of my hands are in his. I push my hips against him harder, inadvertently tightening my grip on his fingers, and he sighs, his cock jumping inside me.

He fucks me slowly, really more a sinuous writhe rather than a hard pump or thrust. The tears return at his tenderness, and I blink them back, focusing instead on our joined hands, on his breath tickling my skin, interspersed with little kisses. He shifts his hand in mine so that mine's on top, and his hand can cup my breast. His fingers press closer to my breastbone, find my heartbeat.

I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting to dispel everything but his body. His cock inside me, so deep but so gentle. His hand palming my breast, fingers gentle, but straining for something beneath the surface. And our other hands, still joined, but now levered against my hipbone to pull me closer.

He slips our hands lower, between my legs, and cups my mound. Just the pressure rubs against my eager clit, and it's all I can do not to hump his hand. He has no intention of leaving me hanging, though, and his fingers release mine, to dip into my slit and stroke my nub directly.

I gasp as he works me to a furious crescendo, his hips and his hand finding the perfect rhythm and pressure to make me feel consumed, weightless, with only his arms tethering me to earth. Still he's quiet, basking in my moans—his breath catches with each one—but not making his own pleasure known.

I hold my breath, quieting my own reactions to try to find his. I need him to moan, need to hear him and know he's with me, not trying to lose himself in me. And finally, it's there. A little gasp when I arch harder, and a little twitch in his finger on my button. Just the idea of it sends me over the edge, my body clenching tightly around him. He squeezes my fingers tighter, matching my strength, and moans louder as my legs and my pussy follow, holding him against me as though if I try hard enough, I can make him a part of me.