Page 57 of Unlikely
She leans in to kiss me, her lips lingering, like we have all the time in the world.
I secretly love that.
Surprising me, she pushes me to my back and then straddles me. I take in her expression, knowing she’s trying to distract me from my unanswered question, her smile wide and irises no longer buried under emotion. She looks so breathtaking with her disheveled blond hair, pink cheeks, and dusty-rose nipples on full display, that I indulge in her deflection.
I glide my hands up her body and cup her breasts, thumbing her nipples. She lowers her mouth to mine.
“We can talk later,” she murmurs against my lips. “But for now we should get back to how much I love your tits.”
She glides her lips across my jaw and down the length of my neck. She leaves open-mouthed kisses down the valley between my breasts as she gets on her knees to give herself better access to lick and suck my nipples.
Her hand slides down between us, the pads of her fingers massaging my clit, before she dips two and then three digits inside of me. It’s an easy glide, two orgasms earlier and my constant state of arousal around her and she’s knuckles deep.
Her lips and tongue venture away from my breasts, trailing down my stomach and joining her fingers. I groan as she gives me all her attention, tasting and teasing me, opening me wide as she fucks me with her fingers.
My hand finds the back of her head, pressing her face to me as I rock against her, loving the deliciously torturous climb to my release.
“Clementine,” I gasp as she curls her fingers inside me, grazing my G-spot. “Do it again.”
My wish is her command as my feet dig into the bedding, and heat coils around the base of my spine.
She pushes me to the brink right before surprising me and stopping completely.
“Clem,” I whine.
“I know. I know.” She gets up on her knees, straddles my thigh, and grabs my hand, placing it over her sex. “But your pussy has me in a chokehold and I need to come with you.”
My fingers glide beautifully through her slick center, her arousal coating my fingers. I slip the digits between my lips and moan at the taste of her. “You’re too fucking sweet, baby.”
She slams her mouth to mine, and we get lost in the taste of one another just before she maneuvers my leg so our mounds are flush against each other.
“Oh, fuck,” I cry out as she grinds against me, our clits furiously rubbing together.
“Zara, please come with me,” she pleads.
“I’m right there, sweetheart,” I pant. “Fall apart with me.”
We’re completely enamored, our gazes never straying from the other’s. We rock back and forth, over and over, her wetness mixing with mine. It’s always too much and always never enough.
Surrounded by the sounds of heavy breathing and sex, Clementine and I chase the inevitable high. She cries out as her body seizes atop mine, her legs trembling around me and her clit pulsing against mine. Her eyes flutter closed as her head falls back, and the undeniable euphoria on her beautiful face is my absolute undoing.
My own body arches off the bed as I shudder through my release, heat and exhilaration coursing through me. We ride out our orgasms, our bodies moving against one another, slow and languid, basking in the afterglow.
Reading my mind, Clem leans forward and captures my mouth with hers. There’s less of the fire and frenzy, but the taste and feel of her are always so potent, so significant, so life changing.
She peers back at me, and I see the vulnerability in her eyes, the toll it takes on her to share her history, and the courage it takes to ask for what she truly wants. But it’s nothing compared to the true smile that splits her face in two.
With a sated and relaxed sigh, she sags against me, my fingertips running up and down the length of her spine, enjoying the way her body rises and falls with mine. As the comfortable silence stretches between us, I find the courage to resurrect my question from earlier.
“Why is Arlo worried about you?”
I’m not surprised when she doesn’t lift her gaze to meet mine, or that she doesn’t answer instantly. Determined to show her that I’m patient, I continue to soothe her with my touch, waiting till she finds the words.
Eventually, she drags herself off of me and we’re back to lying down on our sides and facing one another.
“Promise me something,” she says, her tone serious. “Please don’t get all weird when I tell you things about my past or my upbringing.”
“Weird how?”