she got red over her neck, splotchy with a blush that looked hot on her jawline. “I know that was confusing. I’m sorry.”
He let go of her hands and touched her face, too. Traced the boundaries of her blush, the swelling around her eyes from her tears.
“No, I get it.”
She looked solemn. “Do you?”
He kissed her, but let go of her face and paid attention to her hands on his in case she wanted him to back away from it.
But she pulled him in closer, slid her fingers into the hair at his nape and that felt so good, just so good, that he softened and deepened the kiss hoping she’d—
He didn’t know. Just
hoping.
Her fingers massaged and pressed; her mouth was hot, her tongue, sliding, was bringing the blood out to the surface of his skin, and that combination of shivers and heat was getting him so hard, making him want, and so he followed her hair down to where it touched her waist, then eased his hand under her T-shirt, got her hips closer to his.
Felt good. His dick in the soft hollow of her hip, her circling herself on his thigh again. But it was all looser, warmer than before, when she was freaking out. He kissed and kissed her, breathed her in, breathed in the way she smelled like she had just come in from the sun, even in this over-air-conditioned room.
He left her waist to trace the division between her quadriceps and her gracilis muscles along the lateral side of her thigh. She hitched her leg up, and he grabbed it, using it to drive her hips in up-and-down hitches. She hummed, just a little, from her chest, and they kissed between catching their breath.
He let his fingertips drag from her thigh to her hip, where her skirt was skill hiked up, to where she was pressed against
his
thigh.
His thumb found her through her panties, soaking wet.
He brushed her hair back from an ear with his free hand, because she had stilled.
“Please,” he asked, because he didn’t know what else to ask for, not yet, “this one time, let me make you come.”
She had called him, certain he could help her, could do something for her and for her friend.
That’s all he wanted. Was to do for her, to do what was for him, easy.
This. Right here.
Chapter Eight
Nina was vibrating all over.
There was only one answer to a question like that, wasn’t there?
When a man pleaded to make you come, a man who felt as good as Sam did, a man who had gray eyes that never stopped looking for answers in yours, who had red hair that was always sticking up from where he rubbed it in worry, a man who despite his muscles was a little too lean as if he didn’t know what it was to indulge himself, when this man wanted to indulge himself with
your
orgasm,
Dios
, you let him.
Because maybe your coming all over his square, elegant hands and moaning into his perfect mouth, against his hot and desperate kisses, maybe the decadence of your slick bucks as he eased in a finger, maybe two, as he stretched you out while you tightened up with every bang of your heart, maybe all of that would make a man like this loosen, make him fat with satisfaction.
She felt like she could feed him with her coming, if she really let go, if she really let him feel how he made her body undone and wound-up all at the same time.
How he made her want him, without the emptiness she’d been feeling for so long.
So she said,
Yes
, and she said it against his mouth, and she moved his hand that wasn’t busy just where she wanted it to her breast, and she smiled when he pulled up her T-shirt and pulled down her bra so he could kiss her there.
And
there.
“Nina,” he said, his breath hot on her pinched nipple.
“Yeah,” she said, stroking her other one and closing her eyes because he’d done something with his thumb that put unending, deep pressure against her clit and if he wiggled his thumb, even a little, it would be all over.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he said, his mouth back at her neck, his thumb just pressing, his fingers still, letting her
He let go of her hands and touched her face, too. Traced the boundaries of her blush, the swelling around her eyes from her tears.
“No, I get it.”
She looked solemn. “Do you?”
He kissed her, but let go of her face and paid attention to her hands on his in case she wanted him to back away from it.
But she pulled him in closer, slid her fingers into the hair at his nape and that felt so good, just so good, that he softened and deepened the kiss hoping she’d—
He didn’t know. Just
hoping.
Her fingers massaged and pressed; her mouth was hot, her tongue, sliding, was bringing the blood out to the surface of his skin, and that combination of shivers and heat was getting him so hard, making him want, and so he followed her hair down to where it touched her waist, then eased his hand under her T-shirt, got her hips closer to his.
Felt good. His dick in the soft hollow of her hip, her circling herself on his thigh again. But it was all looser, warmer than before, when she was freaking out. He kissed and kissed her, breathed her in, breathed in the way she smelled like she had just come in from the sun, even in this over-air-conditioned room.
He left her waist to trace the division between her quadriceps and her gracilis muscles along the lateral side of her thigh. She hitched her leg up, and he grabbed it, using it to drive her hips in up-and-down hitches. She hummed, just a little, from her chest, and they kissed between catching their breath.
He let his fingertips drag from her thigh to her hip, where her skirt was skill hiked up, to where she was pressed against
his
thigh.
His thumb found her through her panties, soaking wet.
He brushed her hair back from an ear with his free hand, because she had stilled.
“Please,” he asked, because he didn’t know what else to ask for, not yet, “this one time, let me make you come.”
She had called him, certain he could help her, could do something for her and for her friend.
That’s all he wanted. Was to do for her, to do what was for him, easy.
This. Right here.
Chapter Eight
Nina was vibrating all over.
There was only one answer to a question like that, wasn’t there?
When a man pleaded to make you come, a man who felt as good as Sam did, a man who had gray eyes that never stopped looking for answers in yours, who had red hair that was always sticking up from where he rubbed it in worry, a man who despite his muscles was a little too lean as if he didn’t know what it was to indulge himself, when this man wanted to indulge himself with
your
orgasm,
Dios
, you let him.
Because maybe your coming all over his square, elegant hands and moaning into his perfect mouth, against his hot and desperate kisses, maybe the decadence of your slick bucks as he eased in a finger, maybe two, as he stretched you out while you tightened up with every bang of your heart, maybe all of that would make a man like this loosen, make him fat with satisfaction.
She felt like she could feed him with her coming, if she really let go, if she really let him feel how he made her body undone and wound-up all at the same time.
How he made her want him, without the emptiness she’d been feeling for so long.
So she said,
Yes
, and she said it against his mouth, and she moved his hand that wasn’t busy just where she wanted it to her breast, and she smiled when he pulled up her T-shirt and pulled down her bra so he could kiss her there.
And
there.
“Nina,” he said, his breath hot on her pinched nipple.
“Yeah,” she said, stroking her other one and closing her eyes because he’d done something with his thumb that put unending, deep pressure against her clit and if he wiggled his thumb, even a little, it would be all over.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he said, his mouth back at her neck, his thumb just pressing, his fingers still, letting her
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