She tilts her head to the side and blinks at me. “How are you so comfortable with this?”
I don’t think she wants the real answer to her question . . . that I’ve been doing this for a very long time, since before I was really even old enough to understand half of what I was doing.
“I just know what I want, what I like. And if you’ll let me, I’ll help you figure that out, too. You want that?”
Tentatively, she nods. I cross to her again and slide my hands up her thighs to where I left off with her skirt.
“So, tell me what you like, Dylan Brenner.”
“I don’t know.”
I give a light pinch to her thigh, and she yelps.
“Tell me what you like. Don’t think. Don’t worry about what you should like.”
“I liked what we did Friday.”
I slip my hand underneath her skirt, all the way around to cup her ass.
“Which part?”
“Uh . . . all of it.”
I dig my fingers into the fleshy curve of her butt.
“Be specific.”
“You’re, um, a pretty fantastic kisser.”
Of all the things I want to do to her, kissing is the blandest option, but it’s a place to start. I use the hand on her ass to pull her to the very edge of the counter. Her legs spread wider to accommodate my body, and her skirt stretches around her thighs. I cover her mouth with mine and press our h*ps together. The only thing between us is my shorts and her underwear, and I can feel the heat of her. Her mouth opens on a gasp, and I take my chance to taste her.
She makes these quiet little noises of pleasure that send my blood pumping faster. Her tongue pushes into my mouth, and her fingers tangle in my hair. I rock my h*ps into hers, and I’m lined up just right so that I could slide right into her if there weren’t any fabric in the way. I thrust forward, wanting to be closer to that heat, and pull her legs up to wrap around my waist.
I lean my forehead against hers. “Tell me what else you like.”
She breathes against my mouth, and with her eyes still closed, she says, “Your hands in my hair.”
I grin. “I like that, too.” I pick up the braid laid over her shoulder and pull off the band wrapped around the end. “I love your hair.” It’s golden and wild and hints at what I think is hiding beneath that laced-up exterior. “The night we met I couldn’t decide which I liked more . . . the idea of pulling on this braid as I f**ked you or undoing it and watching it fall all around you as you rode me.”
She moans quietly, and I give the braid a quick tug before I start separating it.
“What . . .” She pauses, swallows, and begins again. “What do you like?”
I bury my hands in her hair and drag her lips up to mine, grinding my h*ps into hers. “I like the way you blush when I talk about what I want to do to you. I like when you pull on my hair, too. I like when you dig your nails into my skin without even realizing you’re doing it. I like having your legs wrapped around me.”
She clears her throat. “I mean . . .” She slides one of her hands between us and down to cup me through my shorts. “What do you like?”
I drop my head to her shoulder and drag in a labored breath. I push forward into her hand because I just can’t help it. She strokes her hand up the length, and I attack her neck with my mouth. Suddenly impatient, I kiss my way down to the valley between her br**sts, and nip one curve when she squeezes my erection.
She slides down off the counter, and I step back to make room, but only just enough. She reaches beneath my waistband and wraps her small hand around my dick.
“Tell me,” she says, and I f**king love that she’s turned the tables on me. “Tell me what you want.”
The last thing I want to do is stop her, but part of me thinks she’s doing this on purpose. If she focuses on other people, on what they want, she never has to decide for herself.
“I don’t know if you’re ready for what I want, baby.”
Her eyes are wide and even though she probably knows I’m right, she asks anyway. “What?”
“I want to bury my hands in your hair while you take me in your mouth. I want to see those perfect, rosy lips wrapped around my cock. I want to tell you every dirty thing I imagine doing to you, and then I want to do whatever you’ll let me do.”
She licks her lips and f**k.
Fuck.
I’m so hard it’s painful, and her grip is too light, too still.
“Um,” she mutters.
“Told you it was too much.”
She’s got this determined look in her eyes, even as she looks terrified. And I almost want to see how this plays out, see how far she’s willing to go. But considering she’s the only thing in my life right now that doesn’t make me feel like shit, I don’t want to scare her off too fast.
And I don’t want this to just be about me.
I kiss her on the cheek, and then pull her hand out of my shorts.
My dick f**king hates me, but it will keep until I’ve got her comfortable.
“Wait, I—”
“Later,” I answer. “I believe I promised you something else.”
I gather her skirt up and drag it up to her waist, then I lift her up onto the counter again. I lean over and kiss her inner thigh as I curl my fingers around the waistband of her dark blue thong. I groan because I wish I’d gotten a look at her ass in it before I put her up on the counter.
Another time, I tell myself.
Impatient, I drag the scrappy piece of fabric down her legs and shove it in my pocket. Dylan’s legs stiffen, but I place a hand on each thigh to hold her open for me.
“You asked me what I want. This is what I want. I’ve been f**king dying to taste you. I want to make you do more than breathe. I want you to scream for me.”
It’s more than that, though.
I want to make her come so hard that for the rest of her life, she remembers me anytime someone touches her. I’m going to leave my mark on her perfect body, beneath the skin where she’ll never get me out.
I want to ruin her for anyone else.
And I’m pretty damn good at ruining things.
I drop to a knee to get a better angle to do just that, but before I even touch her, the front door bangs open, and I hear Torres and Brookes heading our way.
Chapter 12
Dylan
His mouth is so close to me, and I can feel his breath. Henry never did this, and even though I’m terrified and self-conscious, I feel greedy. Henry and I didn’t exactly have an explosive sexual relationship. It was . . . normal. Regular.