Page 72 of Seeds of Love
“Fuck, Lexie. I love feeling you come over my hand,” he murmurs, then does the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my entire life.
He puts the fingers that were inside me—now slick with my wetness—into his mouth and closes his eyes, moaning. His dark eyelashes rest on his cheek as he sucks his fingers like they’re the most delicious taste in the world.
I feel my core tighten again. Is it possible to come without being touched?
“I need you,” I demand, pulling him closer. “All of you.” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
“Oh, you’re calling the shots now?” His voice is low, teasing.
“Yes,” I say, with more confidence than I feel.
“Really?” He traces a finger down my stomach, making me shiver. “Okay, Miss Ford, and what exactly do you want?” His eyes glance at his rock-hard cock and then back up at me, dark with challenge and lust.
“I—Uh—” I stammer, lost for words.
He chuckles, the sound sending heat roiling through me. “Lost for words, Lexie?” His hands slide up my arms, gathering my wrists and pinning them gently above my head. “Maybe I should take control?”
The position leaves me completely exposed beneath him, vulnerable in a way that should be scary but somehow isn’t. Not with him.
“Yes,” I breathe, relaxing into his hold.
He takes a moment just to look at me, his eyes traveling over my body with such intensity that I can almost feel it. “God, Lexie,” he murmurs. “You’re perfect. Every inch of you.”
His free hand traces patterns on my skin, making me arch toward him. “So responsive,” he says softly. “So beautiful like this.”
He leans down to kiss my neck, my collarbone, working his way lower, all while keeping my hands pinned, reminding me who’s in control.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispers against my skin. “I want to hear you say it.”
“I want you, Freddie Donovan. I want you so freakin’ bad it hurts.” He positions himself between my thighs, and his eyes lock into mine. In one swift motion, he’s inside me, and my eyes roll to the back of my head as I feel his size. He moves slowly, letting me adjust.
“Please, Freddie. Harder,” I plead. I’d imagined us having sex again, wondered what it would be like, but this feels better than I could’ve ever imagined. I need to feel all of it.
“Fuck, Lex,” his voice is strained. “You feel incredible. If I go faster?—”
“I don’t care,” I cut him off, arching into him. “I need to feel all of you.”
He groans, burying his face in my neck as his pace quickens. I hold onto his shoulders, breathing in his familiar scent—vanilla and leather andFreddie. Each thrust sends sparks of delicious pleasure through me.
“God, Lexie,” he pants against my skin. “Your pussy is so wet and tight.”
I can tell he’s close by the way his rhythm falters, the way his muscles tense under my fingers. His hand slides between us, finding that sensitive spot, and suddenly I’m climbing higher again.
“Come with me,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need. “Please, Lex.”
His voice and his words push me over the edge of the orgasm I didn’t realize was building. I cry out as pleasure crashes through me. He follows immediately after, his mouth finding mine in a desperate kiss as his body shudders above me.
For a long moment, we just lie there, his weight on top of me, catching our breath. His weight on me feels comforting, right. When he finally rolls to the side, he pulls me with him, tucking me against his chest.
“So,” he says after a while, trying for lightness, but his voice is still rough. “Two friends who like kissing each other?”
I laugh against his chest, but there’s an ache beneath it.
FREDDIE
NOW – JUNIOR YEAR – MAY
The familiar stretch of eastern Utah unfurls past my window, looking like a shitty screensaver. Barren, rust-colored hills stand out like middle fingers to the lush Colorado mountains I left behind this morning. The radio blares rock music, the kind that gets under your skin and stays there, which seems fitting for the moment. As I near my hometown, the mining industry’s dick-measuring contest begins: looming draglines on the horizon, trucks belch coal with the kind of force that feels like a smoker’s cough, and the air is thick with dust, a gray haze that makes the Sahara look like a walk in the park.
