Page 33 of Fearless
Noah tried to pull back, already licking the flavor of her from his lips. Her fingers touched his cheek. He saw the tip of her own tongue dart out, savoring him in turn and she opened her eyes. The midnight depths of her gaze had deepened with stormy desire.
He rolled his shoulders. Time to stop. But she inched closer, lifting her chin, and the next he knew, her mouth was beneath his again. Noah shook through the battle for gentleness as the softness of her lips opened to him. Wet and willing, yielding to the flick of his tongue, tapping for entrance. She gave it; there was no pulling away from that either and for the second time that night, Noah lost a measure of control.
She caught his shoulders as they fell together against his work table; catching a fistful of her hair, he unleashed himself in kiss after hungry kiss.
She mewed; forget measure, he just plain lost control.
He clawed his shirt off, his mouth leaving hers only long enough to whip it over his head and cast it away. Hers had buttons; both their shaking hands torn down the line of them until he finally ripped the remaining two off in his haste to bare her. He barely heard the pattering rain as they scattered across the barn floor at their feet. In the next instant, he had her bra unfastened and her breasts were in his hands.
Hello, my darlings. His palms welcomed the jut of her budding nipples, her flesh molded to his kneading touch, and her head fell back, casting her sigh to the ceiling when the heat of his mouth claimed the first. He nipped, suckled, matching the motions of his lovemaking with that of his fingers as he teased both nipples at once. She arched into his pulling tugs. Her small hands kept trying to touch his hair, as if to weave her fingers through the short, sandy strands and guide his head to stay where she needed to feel him most. Each time, she caught herself and her hands returned to grip his shoulders. Accepting whatever pleasure he chose to give without demanding anything.
That became his instant goal. He was going to make her forget not just herself, but the selfish ass who had taught her that. He wanted her to demand.
He wanted her to demand him.
Catching her throat in his hand, the heady beating of her heart teasing his fingertips, he ordered, “Pants. Get them off.”
She was kicking out of her shoes almost before he finished the command. For all that he could see, she was damn near fearless as she shimmied out of her remaining clothes. She let her loose jeans fall and the white cotton underwear that had stood between them earlier that day, followed, crumpling into a heap around her ankles. She stepped out of both and with her heel, nudged them under the table and out of the way.
“Now mine,” he directed. He cupped her jaw, his thumb caressing one cheek, his long fingers so brown against the pale of her skin. Her swallow bumped his palm, and he could still feel the beating of her heart, which quickened as she unbuckled his belt. “Give that to me.”
He watched carefully, but still there was no fear, not even as she pulled the supple leather from his pant loops, folding it in half and handing it to him.
He lay it upon the work table near her hip. “Continue.”
She unfastened him, her fingers slipping between his jeans and skin, gliding in under the elastic of his underwear. Her hands roved hot over the skin of his buttocks as she pushed all layers of clothing that still remained between them down his long legs. She licked her lips again, but she did not look down. His cock ached for her to look at it; his nerves fired with every awareness of her as her hands came back to rest on his ass. That was where she stopped moving, and that was okay. He couldn’t wait to touch her ass either.
Bending slightly, he caught her cheeks in both hands, squeezing once and prizing her legs apart as he lifted her in a single, strong heft and deposited her on his work table. She gasped when her butt made contact, but the minute pain—if such it could even be called—was already vanishing from her eyes and she pulled him closer.
She was at the right height now, eye to eye with him, hip to hip. A nudge of his hands parted her knees, letting the rest of him push between as he shifted his grip to her waist. He massaged, pulling her right up to the edge of the table. And him.
Instinctively, she leaned back, bracing her weight on her arms.
“You know your safeword,” he said, but she was already shaking her head.
“I don’t want to use it. Not right now.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. Moving his hands to the insides of her thighs, he pushed them open wider. “That’s your choice. I just want you to know you have one.”
That she fully expected him to move in closer, angle his cock to the heated furrow of her sex and drive himself into her body was written in the way she tried so seductively to wrap her legs around him. She bit her bottom lip, taking her weight on her arms in an effort to make entering her that much easier. Her entire body jolted though, her eyes widening and her mouth rounding, when he bent to hook her thigh over his shoulder and dove mouth-first between her legs.
There were no more barriers, no cloth to dilute the taste of her, no fabric to conceal the sheer thrill with which his tongue lashed between her folds, drinking in the milk of her arousal as he sought the straining nub of her clit. She gasped and grabbed his shoulder, her nails digging into him, but he’d already found her. His arms tightened, locking her in place no matter how she writhed. She was in his mouth, between his lips, captured greedily between his teeth while he flicked and rolled and licked her with his tongue.
“Sir! Oh!” Her head fell back. Something else fell too, clattering off the table and onto the floor, but he couldn’t have cared less what tools got knocked aside. She flailed for something, anything to hold onto. But time and again, her hands came back to him, gripping, pulling, once even clawing as her hips bucked up into the lashing fury of his tongue. “I-I’m s-sorry—”
She tried to stop, but her body had no interest in apologies. Her hips ground to the motions of his mouth, and he rewarded those mini demands with a three-fingered thrust, as deep into her pussy as his palm would allow. Her fingers locked in his short hair. Her silken walls clamped onto him, quivering as he found that smooth spot no bigger than a dime inside her. The one that with a flick of his finger made the whole of her pussy spasm and her hips jerk.
Noah filled his work room with her ragged moans and the wet slapping of his palm against her pussy as he fucked her with his hand and his mouth. She shouted and he sucked at her pussy lips, scrubbing the tiny pebble of her swollen clit with all the roughness of his tongue and the stubble on his chin. There was a time for gentleness, but every buck and shout she gave in to told him this wasn’t it.
She almost fell off the table; his arms tightened, locking her safely into place. Her straining movements turned wild. The milking spasms of her pussy quickened as her breath caught and held, caught and held, and suddenly every line and muscle of her fragile body seized. Her fingers in his hair became claws, but he only laughed at the pain when she pulled. Her high-pitched mewling cries turned shuddery as her thighs quaked, her sheath spasmed, and a flow of sultry pleasure flooded his mouth. Noah laughed again, loving every minute of it and he didn’t stop flicking, stroking, or licking until he’d wrung from her every last convulsion.
If not for his arms around her waist, she’d have wilted down flat on her back on the table, but as he straightened, savoring her taste on his lips, he made her stay upright with him.
“I’m s-sorry,” she whispered, dazed. She blinked, not quite focused on him. That was a victory too. One he could have gazed on every day for the rest of his life and never tired of seeing. “I’m s-s-sorry.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” He looped his belt around her throat, letting the length of the leather tail dangle along her spine, an impromptu collar and the leash by which he now owned her.
“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered again.
