CHAPTER 31 (2)
When I straighten, my knees are shaking. It’s only when his finger finds my chin, tilting it up, that I realize I was staring at his feet. “It’s just me,” he murmurs. “I know.” My lips curve, wavering. “That’s why I’m shaking.” An expression of hunger and utter adoration fills his face. His hand finds my hip, tugs me close to him. “Me too.” He presses himself between my thighs, and my eyes squeeze shut. The roughness of his jeans sends waves of sensation through me. Timothy’s hands slide up my sides. He palms my breasts as if they’re precious, as if I am. The callouses on his fingers feel so good and a little dirty. I arch into him, wrapping my fingers around his neck and pressing my lips to his shoulder. He responds, rolling one of my nipples between his thumb and finger. Ribbons of pure pleasure shoot between my thighs. “Oh God.” He switches to the other breast, and the tugging between my thighs intensifies, grows from a thread of desire to a chain of need—need for this, for him, for more. “You feel so good in my hands. The times I’ve wanted to do this, Six, just this…” My fingers dig into his neck, urging him to continue, but he nods at the bed. I shift back onto the comforter, and he follows me, then moves down my body. When I realize where he’s headed, his name tumbles from my lips. “I’ve come so many times thinking of you,” I whisper. He rubs the back of his hand across his mouth. “You’re about to again.” Holy. Timothy drags my ankles apart. I want this, but I’m too exposed. I try to close my legs, and he looks up, darkly questioning. He doesn’t correct me. Instead, he traces a path down my stomach with his fingers, and right before they dip where I need them, they turn, stroking the inside of one shaking thigh. My thighs spread on their own—an inch, then another. His touch traces up the other thigh, but it’s too slow and too soft. I bite my lip in frustration. He brushes across my opening, and I buck my hips. “You’re so wet,” he growls, his fingers returning to toy with me. “The things we could do with you this wet.” I’m so close to whining, to fucking begging him to touch me. Maybe he knows and likes it. “Tell me you want it,” Timothy murmurs. “Ask me with those pretty words. That voice I can’t get out of my head.” I shift up on my elbows, my heart hammering in my chest as I stare down at him. “Timothy Adams. I’ve been waiting years for you to fuck me. Do it already.” His chocolate eyes flash with heat and satisfaction before he lowers his head. His tongue hits the sweet spot between my thighs, and it’s like being jolted with an electric current. Oh. My. God. My head falls back against the covers as need, hot and wet, rushes over me. He moves between the lightest touch of his tongue and slow strokes with his finger as if I’m an instrument he’s experimenting with for the first time. My hips snap toward him. My hands fist in the sheets. “More,” I pant, writhing, but he ignores me. Just when I’m starting to get into a rhythm with his mouth, his damn finger takes its place, teasing and stroking, pressing inside an inch only to slip back out. “Timothy…” He takes pity on me, sliding that finger all the way in. The feeling is exquisite, and it’s only his damned hands. I grab his hair and exhale hard. If I’d ever wanted to know how Timothy got to be so good at music, it’s obvious from the way he pleasures me. Every touch and stroke is an experiment that informs the next, one that he changes and repeats and twists into a pattern that drives me insane with need. But I’m learning him, too, learning how to make him give me what I want. Like saying his name. By the time he’s sucking on my skin in earnest, sliding a second finger into me, I’m making noises with every breath. I squirm because I can’t not, and that makes him groan. “All the times I got off to you, I never thought you’d be this tight. I don’t know if I could have stayed away.” Those filthy words have me breaking on his lips, my hands fisting in his hair as I arch against him, crying out his name. The last thing I see before my eyes squeeze shut is his face, full of need and satisfaction. I ride out the waves of feeling with him, on him. When the aftershocks rock me, he slows but doesn’t pull back. He licks me clean, as if every inch of me was made for his enjoyment and he won’t allow any of it to go to waste. “Wow,” I murmur, dragging him up my body so I can loop my arms around his neck. “At the risk of inflating your ego,” I start, and his mouth, still wet from me, curves. “You’re pretty good at that.” “Pretty good.” Timothy brushes his lips across mine, and I can taste myself on him. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced. “Let’s see what else you’re good at.” My hands drop to the button on his jeans, hovering there as I take in this moment. Him and me. Joined. For real. Fucking finally. But his hand closes over mine. “Tell me you’re going to fuck me already,” I murmur. Timothy brushes a piece of hair out of my face, his tight jaw working. “No. I’m not.”
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