Depths (21 page)

“And I don’t mean once. I want it over and over, so you’re slick as hell. I want you to come when I lick you and when I’m inside you.”

She presses her face closer, until her mouth is right up against my mouth. She’s not thinking about my nose and how much it hurts, and I don’t blame her. The promises I’m making are pushing me right through the pain.

“I want to touch every inch of you. Do you want that?”

She nods, her hair rubbing against my face, the coconut-sweet smell surrounding me.

“Now?”

It’s the only thing she’s said since I told her what I want, but it’s all I need to hear.

Without a word, she stands and tugs my hand. I help her into my car, and the longest ten minute drive in the history of my life begins. Every curve of the road I have to slow down for or residential reduced speed section makes me frustrated, but maybe it’s good to have something to focus my aggravation on. Because when I glance over at her, she looks so nervous, and so damn completely gorgeous, I don’t know…

I grip the steering wheel hard. Is this too fast? Too crazy? The wrong time?

I don’t know. I don’t know the answers to any of those questions.

I do know that I just gave her a big, bold speech on the usefulness of mistakes. And I hope with everything in me that the two of us and what we’re about to do will never wind up labeled a
mistake
by her.

I know I could never think of it that way.

Things with Maren were supposed to stay neat. We both like things in their own little compartments. But I can’t promise any of that anymore.

In fact, I can pretty much guarantee the opposite.

But she scrambles out of the car before I can open the door, and she’s already kicked off her shoes by the time I catch up. She runs the bottom of her foot over the sandy step of my front porch, watching the key slide into the lock with an intensity that makes my hand shake.

We don’t say a word as we make our way into the house, Maren ahead of me. I shut the door and she turns, her eyes fixed. On me.

I try to get a handle on my body, suddenly shaky and unsure.

She puts her hands at her hips and grabs fistfuls of fabric on either side of her skirt. It inches up, exposing more and more leg, and I’m so focused on every revealed bit of her, I’m blindsided by the way she drags it over her head and drops it on the floor.

The bra is a little bit of scrappy purple lace. Her thong matches. She’s still in her heels. Her finger is crooked.

At me.

There’s no way in heaven or hell I’m not going to follow.

She paces backward as I walk her way, stopping when she hits the steps.

It’s been ten seconds, a half-dozen steps, but my body reacts like I’m an hour into the world’s sexiest striptease.

Like she can hear my thoughts, she turns her back to me and presses down one bra strap, then the other, and pulls her arms out, one hand moving to the clasp in the back.

I lock my breath in my lungs and wait for the fall. It’s excruciatingly slow, like that lace is clinging to her skin the way I want my hands and lips to be. Then the tiny bit of fabric is floating to the stairs and Maren backs up, climbing with careful steps.

“Do you want me?” she asks, her voice husky, her dark pink lips trembling.

“More than I’ve ever wanted anything.” I make sure my words are clear, that I say it so she’ll have no doubt whatsoever.

Her thumbs hook in the waistband of her thong, and she slides it down an inch, then pulls it back up, down and up, her fingers playful against her own skin.

I pull my shirt over my head, kick off my shoes, and unbutton my pants. I half-think she’ll stop or get spooked, but her hands run up from her waist, lingering under the swell of each of her perfect tits. She brushes her thumbs over her nipples and they stand at attention, ready.

So am I. Holy fuck, I’m so damn ready.

I tug down on my fly and step up two steps. She’s higher than I am. My mouth is level with her nipples, and I make use of that particular vantage point, catching one lightly between my teeth and sucking in with firm pressure, licking at it until she grips the bannister and her head drops back. I switch to her other side and let my hands run over the soft fabric of her thong, my fingers dipping in under this last shred of lace that barely covers anything and pulling back out before I go too far.

Maren leans forward and down, pressing my face against the soft, sweet swell of her tits. Her hands grab at the waist of my pants and push so hard, my boxer briefs half go down with them. She braces her hands on my shoulders and looks over my head and down my back, where my ass is half-exposed by my falling clothes.

She pushes my face away and steps down, crouching on the step I’m on, her face eye level with my dick, which is still held back by the thin cotton of my half-on boxers. And then, with one more yank, I can step out of everything and appreciate the way her lips barely brush the skin of my upper thighs and my eager, over-stimulated dick.

“Wow.” She eyes it and lifts a brow.

I’m so hot, I wouldn’t doubt it if my face was bright red.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” she says softly, cupping the tip in her palm, her fingers brushing along the shaft with slow, steady motion.

I reach down and pull her up to eye level. “I’m never embarrassed with you, Maren. I’ve never been so comfortable with anyone. Never. I feel like…I’ve known I wanted you since the day we met. It’s weird, but I feel almost like we need to hurry up and have sex so we can just seal it all, make everything between us official.”

Before she can respond to everything I’m saying even though I shouldn’t be, I scoop her into my arms and hold her tight to my chest. She lets out a little gasp, then rings her arms around my neck and grabs on to me. I walk to my room, the same room I left her alone in the night she slept here. The same room I imagined barging into so I could rub against her sweet, curving body all night long.

This time I barge in with her in my arms, and she giggles as I set her down on the bed.

“This place looks familiar,” she says with an impish smile, falling back on the blankets, her dark hair spread around her, her arms at her sides. She rubs them over the covers, palms down, like she’s making a snow angel on my sheets.

I watch her snuggle and roll on my bed like it’s hers, and I feel a kind of crazy-possessive happiness well up in me. I don’t get to just ogle for long, though. Maren suddenly stops and looks up at me, shakes her head, and clucks her tongue.

“I don’t want you all the way over there,” she says and rolls to the side, patting the bed. “I want you here.”

I’m not an idiot. I’m on that bed so fast, it makes Maren giggle again.

“You’re pretty eager, huh?” She reaches one finger out and draws it across my left shoulder, my chest, my right shoulder.

It’s barely even any contact, but we’re both breathing hard when her finger completes its trek.

“Eager like you wouldn’t believe.” I roll her under me, my hands quick and sure on her skin, bringing out her moans and making her pull her knees up and spread them wide, inviting more touching, deeper.

I tear the last little piece of fabric off of her, bunching it up and tossing it aside. She rolls onto her back and I straddle her, gripping her hips on either side and relaxing my hold so I can push the flat of my palm up her body. She arches into me as my fingers climb, finally tangling in her hair, the hard length of my dick pushed in the apex of her thighs, my face low over hers.

Her mouth reaches up for mine, and I pull back just to relish one more second of seeing her lips puckered toward me, hungry for me. When I skim my mouth over hers, she lets me know she’s done being teased by nipping at me and turning her face away.

I thread my hands deeper into her hair, netting her close to me, and holding her still with gentle pressure so I can finally kiss her mouth again as long and deeply as I need to. She opens her lips and flicks her tongue into my mouth. I relax my weight on top of her, letting her eager hands pull at and reposition me until she’s comfortable.

But I don’t let my mouth leave hers again. Her tongue is a silky soft slide in my mouth, and I plunge deep to get every taste. She’s sweet and a tiny bit bitter in unexpected corners. I refuse to leave a single spot unexplored.

When I’m sure she’s not going to pull her mouth away again, I slide my fingers out of her hair and trace them down her arms, pulling her hands from their current position, cupping my ass, and threading our fingers tightly together. I press her hands up along her hips and ribs and shoulders and then over her head, forcing our bodies into two long lines pressed hard at every matched juncture; sliding heat against sliding heat, firm press to firm press, hard length against hot, wet depth.

Her skin is velvet under mine, but every single place it rubs against me shocks through my body like an electric jolt.

And there’s so much touching, it’s like a velvet-wrapped electrocution. A sweet torture I never want to end.

I kiss down her mouth and along the line of her neck, loving the strain of her hands against mine and the wild buck of her hips, pressing me so close, but not nearly where I need to be.

I kiss down, tugging her hands with me. She lets out little mews and groans of protest any time my mouth leaves her skin, switching to sighs and moans when I suck her nipples in with frantic pressure, lick her skin in a long line down her body, and finally wind up at the place that’s wet and ready.

Her arms are stretched down, and she tugs for me to loosen my hold, but I pull back so she’s sitting up, at first all the way, then back on her elbows. I let go of her hands, but hold up a warning finger to let her know I’ll trap her again if she doesn’t listen.

“Spread your legs,” I tell her.

She closes her knees instead and asks, “Why?”

I put a hand on either knee and test them open with gentle pressure. “It’s your birthday. Spread your legs so I can lick you into a happy one.”

“It’s already a happy one,” she protests, closing tight against my hands.

I pry her knees open again. “You think so because I haven’t stuck my tongue in you. Yet. Now trust me. And. Spread. Your. Legs.
Please
.”

She wiggles up and lets her knees fall open, biting her lip and pressing her eyes closed as she does. I slide my tongue in a long, wet lap that shakes an instant moan from her.

I pull back and spread her folds with my fingers, letting my index, then my middle finger dip into her slick, tight depths. “That’s it. Let me touch your pussy. Let me lick you. I want to hear you moan. Will you do that?”

“Yes,” she gasps, and I tip my head back down, licking with quick, short flicks that have her pumping her hips and pressing toward me. “Please, Cohen, please.”

I suck against the wet bud of her clit, and the long pull of her moan lets me know I’m doing something right. I lick again, tasting the salty sweet of her, using my fingers to set up a rhythm deep in her, and every once in a while I pull back to tell her to moan for me or ask for something I know she wants. Maren is more than willing, and I love the way her back arches against my mouth.

“Tell me where to lick it,” I tell her.

“Here.” Her hand slides down and her fingers press against the spot where she wants my mouth. I follow, my tongue tracing over her fingers as I focus on the sweetest center of her. “Faster,” she gasps.

I slow down.

She laughs.

“Jerk.” She runs her fingers through my hair and presses at the back of my head with her hand, getting bolder when she feels my moan against her skin. “Faster. Faster,
now.
”

I listen to her, even though I’m barely holding on to my sanity by taking things nice and slow. I flick my tongue, she pumps her hips, my fingers press and pull against her, until, just when I’m positive I can’t stand it a second longer, she shudders against me, pulling up on the back of my head with her hands, clamping her thighs tight to the sides of my face.

“Cohen! Holy shit, Cohen!” she cries, running her hands up and down over her body before she falls back on the bed, limbs spread in a lazy jumble. “Cohen?”

I army crawl up the length of rumpled covers to get closer to her. “Good?”

She turns her body tight to mine and crushes her arms around me. “A-freaking-mazing!”

“Happy birthday,” I say, nuzzling her neck.

“That’s not it, is it?” I ask, pressing my sweat-damp hair back off my face. My body is humming, my blood singing from the way he touched me, the way he talked to me, the way he looked at me. I feel energized. I feel sexy as hell. And I’m not remotely ready for this to end.

He shakes his head and grins, his fingers trailing up and down my body lazily. “Nope. But you have to let me rest for a second.”

“Hmm.” I get up on my knees, loving the feel of having him spread out, all beautiful boy, all mine. “I’m not really into the idea of you resting.”

I swing one leg over his hips and sit across his muscled thighs, straddling him. I reach over to the bedside table and open first the top, then the bottom side table drawer, determined not to end my search until I find what I’m looking for. And it takes two seconds for me to find what I need and pop back up, triumphant, with a condom in hand. I roll it over him, admiring how gorgeous he is in every way, and laugh a little when his eyes roll back.