Page 74 of The Sun and the Moon
“I was thinking I want to lick your cleavage and bury my face in your breasts.” Heat rushes to my cheeks, the ache in my pleasure palpable. But now that she’s closer, there’s such a flood of desire, thoughts and feelings and longings, it’s almost overwhelming. “I want to grab your ass, one cheek in each hand, get a mouthful of your breast and take tiny bites out of your stomach.”
I have to force my eyes up to her face; I’m a little scared to see her reaction.
Her lips have dropped open, and her eyes are dark with a look of pure lust.
She bends down so her breasts are right in my face and takes my left hand in hers. Slowly, she lifts it to her ass. I wait, happy to let her lead. She places the other hand on the other cheek. “Go. Ahead.”
Her breath pounds against my forehead.
I grab a handful, yanking her onto my lap. Her breasts are right below my chin. Just out of reach of my mouth. Her eyes and mine are level, and I focus on the deep rim of navy outlining the cerulean. She wraps her arms around my shoulders, her legs around my hips. Her breasts push against me, and I’m wishing I didn’t have a shirt on anymore. I’m wishing there was nothing standing between her and me becomingus.
In every way possible.
“Hey.” She brushes my lips with her thumb. “Where’d you go?”
“Sorry,” I say. “It’s awfully loud in my head.”
She presses her forehead to mine. I run my hands up the length of her back, savoring the feel of her skin under my hands. Her lips touch mine tenderly.
“I’m terrified,” she says. “I haven’t felt like this—” She cuts herself off. “I was going to sayin a long time, but that’s just swagger.” She presses another gentle kiss to my lips. “I don’t know if I’ve ever felt like this before.”
It takes some of the sting out of my own inner turmoil to hear her say she’s scared, too. Scared because she feels so much, just like me. Scared to feel as much as she does, because it’s foreign, so unknown.
“At least we can be terrified together,” I say.
Our eyes connect, and I’m struck by how I’ve never thought about it before. How true it is when they say that the eyes are the window to the soul. And if that string is tied from her soul right to mine, I wonder: If I looked in her eyes long enough, would I be able to see it?
And I realize: It wouldn’t matter.
Soulmate, not soulmate.
Sydney is who I want.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sydney
Longing isn’t something I usually equate with having a hot woman between my legs, but that feeling underscores this lust, shading my ravenous need. Because pleasuring her body isn’t enough. I want to taste her soul.
I cover her lips with mine and am pleased when she opens them to my tongue, letting me in. My hands work down her back, finding their way under her shirt, and I am happy when she breaks our kiss to let me ease the fabric up and off. Her bra is black, simple cotton. Her breasts are perky and full, a good handful. I pepper kisses on her neck as her hands travel up my back to where the clasp on my bra is closed.
“Can I?” she says, leaning her head back so I can plant kisses on the soft skin near her earlobe. I nod, breathe a “Yes.” She works the clasp free with one hand while the other comes around to help me remove the straps.
My bra falls between us, and she tugs it out of the way. With a groan, her hand cups my breast. “I could spend all day here,” she says. “All night.” Her pointer finger and her thumb close aroundmy nipple, tweaking the sensitive skin until it makes me moan. Sitting on her lap like this, it’s easy to press my need against her hips. She buries her face in my breasts, tonguing my nipple before taking the flesh, areola and all, into her mouth. I gasp as pleasure ripples through me, as she writhes against me. Her hands slide up my waist, into my hair, and around my neck, leaving sparks of electricity like a path across my skin.
“I want to see you,” I say, easing back from working my mouth over her neck. I twist off her lap, and give a playful tug of the thin black strap holding her bra up. She laughs as it drops down. I reach around, undoing the clasp.
She lets it fall to the ground next to mine.
My eyes get stuck on her breasts. Skin like crushed seashells, with a tiny birthmark near one nipple. Her areolas are small, the nipples plump, tan. I take one in my hand, and it’s a perfect fit. With my tongue I trace the ridge of the areola before using the tip to taunt the nipple. She quivers, groaning as I take the whole sweet thing in my mouth.
“Oh God,” she says, followed by a soft cry. Her hand reaches between her legs. I move my own hand over hers, applying pressure. I feel her warmth through her jeans.
But I want to feel her wetness.
I release her breast from my mouth. “These have to come off now.” Her eyes roll open and she laughs.
“Go right ahead.” She smirks. I make fast work of the button, standing up to help ease them off her hips. Her black underwear slides off a little with them, and I tug them all the way down.
