Page 44 of Surrender
His smartass remark is completely forgotten when he realises what he’s touching.
If there’s one part of my body I can say that I’m proud of, it’s my breasts. Motherhood didn’t ruin them like it does for so many women. Mine remain the same teardrop, handful they were before. No more. No less.
Gareth’s rough palms massage the two masses of flesh like a caveman testing the strength of a rock. I stare down at his hands on me, grateful for the blindfold because it allows me the freedom to watch unabashedly. His skin is so tan and virile compared to the pale complexion of my chest.
I stifle a moan as he gently rolls my nipples between his fingers. The pressure causes a warmth to shoot through the core of my body, and I have to grip his elbows for balance.
“It’s like I’m reading Braille,” Gareth says, his jaw slack as he continues blindly assessing every inch. “You know I’ve yet to see these in the flesh, right?”
“I’m aware,” I croak, my need becoming too much for me to handle. “I need you to sit down.”
His low chuckle is like fresh oxygen as he reaches backwards for the sofa and lowers his naked body onto it. Without a word, I walk over to his nightstand where I recall him grabbing a condom from the last time. I am pleased to see he still has several left. When I grab one, my eyes catch sight of a tiny piece of familiar black fabric. I grasp the bundle and spread it out to see it’s the ripped panties from our first night together. He kept them all this time? I don’t know if I should be touched or creeped out.
“Sloan, where are you?”
“I’m right here,” I reply, shaking off my thoughts and returning to where he waits for me.
I rest one knee on the sofa beside him and press my front against his side, allowing some delicious skin-on-skin action as I comb my hands through his thick hair. He practically purrs when I tug his head back and run my tongue along his throat.
“Do you like that?” I ask, nibbling on his earlobe and tightening my grip in his hair.
“Yes,” he pants.
“Do you want more?”
“God, yes.”
I bring my other knee up so I’m kneeling next to him, my ass arched up as I splay one hand on his thigh and one on his shoulder. I kiss my way down his chest, his abs, careful to avoid his dick when I press open-mouthed kisses on each of his muscled thighs.
Removing my hand from his thigh, I grip his length in a sudden, strong embrace.
“Oh fuck.” He bites his lip and shifts uncomfortably in the seat as I test the firmness of his length, blowing cool air on the thick vein that runs along the underside of his cock.
“Do you want me to fuck you, Gareth?”
“Treacle, I’ve wanted you to fuck me for the past year.”
“Say that word again.”
“Which one?”
“You know which one.”
He swallows slowly, steeling himself to sound stable. “Fuck.”
“Yes,” I husk.
“Fuck,” he repeats.
“Yes,” I husk again and my tongue swipes the vein on his shaft.
He nearly jolts off the sofa. “Fuck!”
I wrap my lips around him and suck him back as far as I can handle.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, Sloan,” he groans, his hands sliding into my hair.
“Pull my hair,” I pant, then drop back down on him.
