Page 12 of Bolt To Me
She was writhing beneath him now, her breath hitching each time his mouth or hands shifted lower. His kisses meandered south, brushing her stomach, his stubble rasping lightly against her sensitive skin, until he was at the curve of her hip. His hands parted her thighs gently, and then he was there, his mouth claiming her with a slow, languid stroke of his tongue.
The sensation was devastating. Hot, wet, unhurried but sure, every movement calculated to unravel her. She fisted the sheets in both hands, hips lifting toward him without thought, a broken sound escaping her. He responded with a low hum of approval, his grip tightening on her thighs as he worked her with patient skill, alternating between long, teasing licks and focused, deliberate flicks that made her cry out.
Her thighs trembled around his shoulders. She was close, so close, her breath coming fast and sharp, when he pulled back slightly, his mouth wet and his eyes dark with wicked amusement. “Not yet,” he murmured, voice rasped with desire.
She made a strangled sound, part frustration, part need, but he was already moving up her body again, kissing a path along her skin until his face hovered just above hers. He kissedher deeply, letting her taste herself on his lips, while his hand slid between them to cup her, his fingers slipping easily over slick heat.
“Cory…” It came out breathless, desperate.
“Tell me,” he said, fingers stroking with maddening precision.
“Yes… God, yes…”
He kissed her once more before positioning himself over her, one arm braced beside her head, the other hand guiding himself to her. He entered her slowly, the thick, steady slide making her clutch at his shoulders, her mouth falling open on a sharp gasp. His forehead pressed to hers, his eyes squeezing shut as if holding back the flood of sensation.
They stayed still for a moment, locked together, the heat of him filling her. Then he began to move, slow and deep, the drag and push of him sending shivers through her with each stroke. Her nails dug into the hard muscle of his back as her hips rose to meet him, their bodies finding a rhythm that was equal parts tender and devastating.
The pace built gradually, each thrust harder than the last, the sound of their breathing mingling with the faint creak of the bed. He kissed her through it, mouths breaking only long enough for gasped breaths before coming together again. His hand slid down to grip her thigh, pulling it higher over his hip to sink even deeper.
Her world narrowed to nothing but the feel of him inside her, the heat of his body against hers, the steady, relentless rhythm that pushed her higher and higher. She clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping her grounded, her moans muffled against his neck.
“Carli,” he groaned, his voice breaking on her name, and the sound of it tipped her over. Her body tightened around him in pulsing waves, a cry muffled against his shoulder as pleasurecrashed through her, leaving her shaking and breathless. He followed her a heartbeat later, thrusting deep one final time before shuddering against her, his breath hot against her ear as he murmured her name again like a prayer.
They collapsed together, tangled in the heat of the moment, his weight a comforting anchor against her. His lips brushed her temple, then her cheek, his hand stroking lazy patterns down her spine as they caught their breath.
The world outside didn’t exist anymore, only the warm, damp sheets, the thrum of their heartbeats, and the way his body curled protectively around hers as if even in sleep, he wouldn’t let her go. The room was still steeped in the warm gold of the bedside lamp, shadows drawn out long and soft across the floorboards. The air between them shimmered with leftover heat, the faint salt of sweat mingling with his cedar-and-leather scent until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Carli lay half beneath him, her hair tangled across the pillow in loose waves, skin flushed and glowing in the low light.
His chest rose and fell against her, the rhythm slowing now, his weight a steady, grounding presence. He had one arm tucked beneath her shoulders and the other draped across her waist, fingers tracing idle circles just above her hip as though unwilling to stop touching her even for a second. She felt the whisper of his fingertips like embers drifting over her skin.
He nuzzled into her hair, breathing her in, then let his mouth wander lower, pressing a kiss just below her ear. It was unhurried, lips lingering against the delicate skin before he murmured, almost to himself, “You’re still shaking.”
She was. Tiny aftershocks still rippled through her body, not just from release but from the deep, warm satisfaction of being held so completely. “That’s your fault,” she murmured, her voice husky, the words more caress than accusation.
His chuckle rumbled against her chest. “I’ll take the blame.” His hand slid slowly upward, palm flattening against her ribs, thumb brushing the side of her breast in a lazy stroke. The contact made her inhale sharply, and he smiled into her hair, clearly pleased he could still pull that from her even now.
She shifted just enough to look at him, eyes catching the lamplight, her hand lifting to smooth back the damp strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead. Her fingertips lingered there, trailing down the side of his face, feeling the roughness of his jaw beneath her touch. He caught her wrist gently, turning his head to press a kiss into her palm.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment. The silence wasn’t empty. It was thick, charged, full of things that didn’t need to be said. Outside, the faint hum of night insects sang through the open window, the music from the square now long faded to memory.
When he finally did move, it wasn’t to pull away but to roll them slightly so she was half sprawled across his chest. His skin was warm beneath her cheek, the steady drumbeat of his heart loud in her ear. She draped a leg over his hips, and he let his hand drift down to rest against the curve of her thigh, fingers stroking absent patterns there.
“You know I’m not done with you,” he said softly, but the way he said it wasn’t sharp. It was a promise wrapped in velvet.
Her lips curved against his skin. “I’m counting on that.”
They lay like that, tangled and bare, letting the slow, heady calm settle in. Every so often, he would shift just enough to kiss her, her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, like he couldn’t resist the impulse to claim her in small, tender ways. She answered with lazy touches, her fingertips sliding over the hard planes of his stomach, across the dip of his waist, drawing little spirals that made his muscles twitch under her hand.
Eventually, he reached down to pull the sheet over them, not because they needed the warmth but because it felt like a cocoon, sealing them in together. His thumb hooked under her chin, guiding her mouth back to his for a slow, languid kiss that tasted of nothing but contentment.
When he pulled back, his gaze searched hers. “You’re staying,” he said, not a question, but as if needing the confirmation anyway.
She nodded against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And they didn’t. They drifted in that soft, twilight haze between wakefulness and sleep, the room smelling faintly of them, the quiet broken only by the slow, steady breathing of two people who had finally, irrevocably crossed a line neither wanted to return from.
Long after her eyes closed, she felt his hand still resting at her hip, possessive even in sleep. And she smiled to herself in the dark, knowing without a single doubt that tonight had changed everything.
Morning After Doubts
