Page 43 of Light in the Dark
Need more. Need him. Need to touch.
Need to escape the maelstrom of emotions inside—all the things I haven’t dealt with. I can't deal with them right now, and the only way to avoid doing so is physical sensation.
Some part of me niggles with guilt, knowing I'm using him to escape my feelings.
Knowing he wants more—he wants my feelings. He wants my story. My truth—the fullness of me.
Most women would sell an ovary to have Felix Crowe in this position—craving not just their bodies but their hearts.
I'm not ready.
He knows this, yet here he is, letting me take advantage of him.
And I can't stop myself.
I need his skin and muscle—pulling at his shirt, I work it up his body. He breaks the kiss long enough to let me tear it off and throw it aside, and then his mouth is savaging mine, kissing me with starving intensity, all tongue and lips and breath and growls.
I clasp his shoulders, dimpling my fingers into the hard give of muscle, and then explore his shoulders, his back, my fingernails carving lines down his lats and obliques until I get to his jeans.
I delve under, find skin, find muscle. His ass is a work of art, hard and taut, a big round firm pair of perfectly formed bubbles, smooth and warm and soft to the touch yet harder than iron. I clutch and play, squeezing, digging my nails in until he grunts and then petting it and smoothing away the sting.
God, I need more—this need is all-consuming and relentless.
I push his jeans down, and he lifts without breaking the kiss, and we work together to remove them. I shove them past his butt and down to his knees, and then he balances on his knee in the bed and yanks them off his extended leg, and then switches his weight to kick them off the rest of the way.
I take claim of his abs and pecs, raking them with my nails and exploring them with my palms and fingertips, tracing the outline of his pecs, running my fingertips in the grooves of his shredded abs, tracing the thick line of hair down his belly to the band of his underwear. I slide my hands under the elastic again and explore his magnificent ass some more, because holy fuck, it's amazing.
But then Felix plays a mean, dirty trick on me.
He breaks the kiss, panting, and stutter-trips his mouth down my throat, over my breastbone, down between my tits to my belly, tickling my navel with his tongue until I shriek a giggle, feet kicking. He pins my legs with his body and yanks open the fly of my jean shorts, and oh, oh fuck, He's going for it. And I'm going to let him—my need to touch him takes a backseat to the promise of another orgasm.
I play with his hair as he kisses my belly while his hand cups my tits. My fly is unbuttoned but the zipper is up; he tweaks my nipples until I shriek, bucking off the bed as a lightning bolt of arousal sears through me, and then he tugs down the zipper. I lift my ass and he takes the cue, yanking them off inside out—the only way to remove shorts as tight as those.
"Fuck me," he growls, his voice farther away now.
I snap my eyes open to see him staring down at me, pure awe in his eyes, his expression painted with peak male appreciation. I forget which panties I put on, and glance down—oh.
They're the only ones I had clean…a red lacy thong, the triangle just barely wide enough to cover my seam, the strings sitting low.
He seizes my hips and before I know it, I'm on my belly and looking back at him over my shoulder as he gazes with reverence and adoration at my ass.
"Fuck me," he growls again, reaching for my ass.
Restless, eager, delirious, I hold still, resting my cheek on my forearm as I watch him cradle the outside of my ass in both hands.
I don't think I've ever been looked at the way he looks at me.
Again, I have to file that feeling away to examine later. Because IknowI haven't. No one haseverlooked at me the way Felix is right now—not with possession or jealousy or love, but raw need.
Unfiltered, savage, primal lust.
It's fucking intoxicating.
"Felix," I whisper.
He grips a double handful of my bare ass, making a rough sound of aggressive appreciation in his chest. "What?"
I try to roll over, but he prevents me.
