Page 93 of Collide
Oh, there it goes.
Then comes the slow drag of my zipper—a hushed, metallic note that plays straight down my spine.
“I want to own all your pleasure.” His voice is low, the kind of promise that makes my thighs clench involuntarily.
Then he pauses, gaze flicking to mine, waiting.
“Do you like touching yourself?” he asks.
My cheeks flush. I nod. “Yes.”
And I do. Often. Especially lately. Especially when I think about him.
His eyes darken. “How about inside?”
I shake my head.
He shifts above me, the softness in his expression grounding me.
“I am going tosavorevery quiver as I feel you unravel around my knuckles,” he growls into my ear, his breath a teasing brush of warmth against my skin, igniting sparks that race down my spine.
“Will it hurt?” I gasp, nerves twisting sweetly into desire, my voice barely a whisper caught between caution and craving.
“No, Darling, not the way I’ll do it,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss across my lips.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my jeans and panties, easing them down just to my knees. The cool air hits my skin, and I shiver.
His lips find my neck again, kissing the spot just below my ear.
“I love having easy access to your neck,” he says against my skin, and I melt.
His mouth travels along my collarbone, soft kisses trailing fire. “Prop yourself up, Darling,” he murmurs.
I push up onto my elbows, my breath shallow. He reaches behind me, expertly unhooking my strapless bra. It slips free, and he tosses it into the shadows without a glance. I laugh, biting my lip.
Bye, I guess.
He gently pushes me back down onto the cushions, tugging my top down until my breasts spill free. His hands slide over them, warm and sure, followed by his mouth.
The second his lips close around my nipple, I gasp.
Oh my God.
He licks at each peak, flicking with his tongue, then blowing cool air over the sensitive tips until I shudder. His hand trails lower, fingers ghosting down my body, over my hips, until he reaches the place I ache the most. His touch is featherlight at first, a teasing slide through the lips of my pussy. I gasp at the contact.
“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, pressing kisses between his words.
He parts me gently, finding the sweet spot I always go to first when I’m alone. He circles it slowly, then dips to collect more slick and spreads it back up over my clit, rubbing in lazy, perfect circles. My body arches toward him.
“Alex,” I whimper, grasping at his bicep, trying to stay grounded.
Touching myself is one thing—thisis something else. This is surrender.
His fingers drift lower. My legs falling open on instinct.
He presses one finger into me, slow and patient, stretching me in a way that makes my mouth fall open.
“How does that feel?”
