Page 9 of The Landlord
No. Not the bed. Too far.
As soon as we're inside my place, I kick the door shut and head for the living room. I set her down next to the coffee table where my disassembled TV and tools are still spread out.
"Sorry about the mess," I say, already reaching for her again.
She smiles up at me. "I don't mind. Have you seen all my yarns?"
I pull her against me, claiming her mouth again. This time there's no hesitation, just hunger. Her hands are in my hair, her body pressed against mine. I can feel every curve, every soft place where she yields to my hardness.
I walk her backward until she hits the edge of the coffee table. Without breaking the kiss, I sweep my arm across it, sending tools and TV parts clattering to the floor.
It's going to be a bitch to clean up later. I'll probably never get the TV working again. Might need to finally buy a new one. Myfucks to give are nowhere to be found, though. This is worth it. SHE is worth it.
I lift her onto the table, kneeling between her thighs as they part for me. Her legs wrap around my waist, just like they did in the hallway, but this time there's no pretense, no excuse about being scared of Doug. This time it's pure want.
My hands find the hem of her sweater, slipping underneath to touch bare skin. She's so soft, so warm. I want to touch every inch of her.
"Damien," she gasps when my thumbs brush the underside of her breasts.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," I say against her neck, already knowing I'll stop if she asks, already dreading the possibility.
"Don't stop." She arches into my touch. "Please don't stop."
Thank fuck.
I push her sweater up, revealing her breasts. They're perfect—full and round, with pale pink nipples that harden under my gaze. I cup them in my hands, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks, and she moans.
"Beautiful." I lower my head to take one nipple into my mouth, rolling it between my lips and lightly sucking.
She cries out, her fingers digging into my shoulders as I suck and lick. I pay equal attention to both breasts, lost in the taste and feel of her, the sounds she makes driving me wild.
I want more. Need more.
I'm firing from all directions as my hands go to the waistband of her pajama pants. I look up at her, waiting for permission.
She nods, lifting her hips so I can pull the pants down her long legs. Her panties go with them, and then she's bare from the waist down, her sweater still pushed up around her ribs.
The sight of her—flushed, half-naked, waiting for me—is the most erotic thing I've ever seen.
"Spread your legs wider for me, baby girl."
She does, slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. I run my hands up her calves, her knees, her thighs, savoring the smooth skin beneath my palms.
When I reach the apex of her thighs, I stop, drinking in the sight of her glistening folds.
"So wet already," I say, tracing a finger through her slickness. She shivers at my touch. "Is this all for me?"
She nods, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as I explore her.
"I need to hear you say it," I tell her, circling her entrance with one finger but not pushing inside.
"Yes. All for you."
Satisfaction roars through me. I lean in, replacing my fingers with my mouth, giving her one long, slow lick from entrance to clit. She tastes even better than I imagined. I just know I'm about to be addicted.
"Damien!" Her hands fly to my hair, not pushing me away but holding me in place.
I settle in, feasting on her like a starving man. I lick and suck, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her moan, what makes her pull my hair tight enough to hurt. I don't care. I'd take the pain a thousand times over to hear the sounds she's making.
