Page 47 of Fireworks
“You’ll come,” he promised, and curled his finger inside her. The movement triggered something new, something that made her walls clench and her back arch, and he was right. She would come, soon, climax creeping up on her with every breath.
“Are you … Are you close?” she rasped out.
“Don’t worry about me. Not yet.” He inserted another finger, stretching her out with delicious ease. And then hefound her G-spot, and she gripped his shoulders to keep her boneless body from falling off his hips.
“Warren.”
“I know,mo ghaol.”
They were words she’d never heard before, spoken gutturally enough to make her shudder, but she didn’t have time to ask what they meant. Release twisted through her, a tornado that rearranged her entire body. She bit her tongue, head tilted back as he inserted one more finger to draw out the feeling. It overwhelmed her, how good it felt, the canopy of leaves above them blurring until he’d tugged every drop of pleasure from her.
She rolled her hands across his length, up and down, desperate to make him feel good, too.
“Fuck, Eiley, just like that.” His moan filled the space between them as he spilled into her hands.
She collapsed against his chest, his face nuzzling into her neck as they caught their breaths.
She couldn’t remember words, and in the end, didn’t need to as she slowly slid down his body. He kept her steady, grip digging into her waist, and kissed her: soft, without hunger, as though it wasn’t over yet.
She let him.
She worried she would keep letting him.
20
It was an effort for Warren to keep his distance as they wandered back to town, aching to explore places he hadn’t had chance to yet.
He wanted more. Wanted to hear her moan, beg, without the need to be quiet and contained. He wanted to see her bare and sweaty and his.
Except she wasn’t his. He was smart enough not to hope that would ever change. Expecting anything more than this would likely be foolish after their rocky stops and starts.
“So, can we do this again?” he was still brave enough to ask as they slowed on the bridge. Gingerly, he eyed the mayhem of Main Street ahead, wishing they could have more time. Endless time.
Eiley glanced around warily. He thought that meant she was ashamed to be seen with him and dropped her hand – but then she tugged him close to straighten the twisted braces over his white T-shirt and zip up his jacket. He tingled when her knuckle brushed his chest, pausing to keep her hand there. Testing his luck.
“Maybe. But I hardly have time in my schedule for hanky panky.”
Hanky fucking panky. He was obsessed with all her silly ways of skirting the truth. Obsessed with how he could make her blush just by cussing.
“Why is that funny?” she demanded when he tried to hide his grin behind his hand.
“You know, you’re allowed to call it what it is: fucking.”
She glared, and there they were: rosy splotches across both cheeks. Adorable, ridiculous, sexy as fuck. Everything about her was that, even when she was mad. He might enjoy her insults a little more now he knew how to make her come with just his fingers. “I’ll call it what I want to call it, thank you very much.”
“Fine, but does it have to behanky panky? I think I preferred S-E-X.”
She huffed, leaning against the stone wall of the bridge to peer at the river below. The flow had grown still from weeks of no rainfall, the golden foliage of the forest’s reflection broken only by rocks in the shallowest areas. He remembered coming here as a kid with his mates, skipping stones and dipping his feet to cool down in summer. Too young to care about being eaten alive by midges or swallowing goose poo-infested water. Too young to know he’d end up here twenty years later, half-lost and half-found.
He’d forgotten, for a moment, how beautiful the town was. It had come to life today. He’d been here for weeks, yet it only now felt like he was coming home.
“Should I take this as less of amaybeand more of ano, then?” Warren’s heart plucked with dread. He couldn’t imagine only gettingthis. It had been wonderful, yes, but not nearly enough. “C’mon, Eiley. Let me down gently.”
Eiley tugged a loose piece of skin on her finger. “It’s not a no. I just have to be careful.”
“Of what?”
She cast a glance behind her, at Main Street, where families congregated around the school’s brass band, which played a slightly out-of-tune arrangement of “There She Goes”. He knew it was that song only because his mum had forced him to play the trumpet in Primary 7. Clearly, the school’s ancient music teacher had yet to invest in new sheet music.
