Page 74 of Not You Again
“Please.” The word slips from my lips without my permission. It’s high-pitched and trembling and needy.
His thumb slides between my folds, slick with arousal, not penetrating, but with the kind of urgent pressure that makes me crave all of him. “Andie, I need to hear you say it.”
“Say what?” My voice cracks, and I throw an arm over my eyes, embarrassed by what he’s reduced me to in a matter of seconds. But I gave him permission, didn’t I? Handing him those scissors with the silent plea, Let me loose, let me breathe, let me be.
His thumb makes its path through my folds again as he says in a low voice, dark with promise, “The truth.”
I tremble, and a bead skitters across the floor. It’s another piece of the flimsy fortress around my heart falling away. The words are heavy on my tongue, and I’m so tired of holding them in. But I’m terrified to hear them in the space between us. Afraid of the havoc they’ll wreak if I let them go, where I can’t control them anymore.
I swallow with a whimper.
“Look at me when you say it,” he says, the edge of command in his voice sending a crackle through my veins.
Goddamn him and his silent dare—he knows I can’t say no. I grit my teeth and meet his gaze. I expect to find a challenge, a sharpness to his expression.
I want it. I want the antagonism I need to tear into him, to take what I need right now, without regret. I want us to fight each other for release until neither of us can move.
Kit clearly has other plans.
His eyes have gone soft, a line appearing between his brows. His whisper hangs in the silence like a promise. “It’s just you and me, Andie. Tell me the truth.”
Tears hot behind my eyes, I curl my hands into fists at my sides, bracing for impact. I open my mouth so the words pour out in an urgent whisper. “I need you, Kit. Please.”
“Good girl.” The glitter in his eyes returns, but he only allows me a glimpse of it before he seals his mouth over my core and closes his eyes with a groan. I can’t help the cry that escapes me as I fall back on the hard floor.
It’s been so long, but Kit remembers everything. Like he cataloged every single place on my body and how it needs to be touched. His lips and tongue work at a furious pace, the stubble on his cheeks rasping against my thighs.
My hands scramble for purchase on the wood floor as pleasure uncoils deep in my belly.
Kit lifts my legs over his shoulders. His hands climb up my stomach to pin me to the floor.
I whisper a curse into the dark, sparks heating up my insides in bursts of sensation. A preview of the main event. The way he’s got me pinned down means there’s nothing for me to do but surrender to him. It’s what he’s wanted this whole time, isn’t it? To give myself over to him, pliant and wanting?
And it feels so good, I do.
I slide one hand into his hair and curl the other around the leg of the nearby drafting table, holding on for dear life. Kit’s fingers scrape the underside of my ribs, like he’s searching for my bleeding heart. His mouth never stops, never gives me a moment to catch my breath.
My climax crashes into me so suddenly I cry out. My voice goes hoarse as my body tenses. My free hand slams to the restored wooden floor and my spine arches right into his waiting hands, like he’s got my heart on a string. I can pretend he doesn’t affect me all I want; the truth is, he’s one hell of a puppet master, and I’m his to play with. Heat unfurls between my legs and crackles through my limbs. I shake and shake and pant through the orgasm, equal parts pleasure and ache, still not full enough.
I lift my head to see what the hell he did to make me feel like that, and the look in his eyes is pure sin. His eyes crinkle at the corners as his tongue softens its strokes over my clit. The bastard is mighty pleased with himself for that, isn’t he?
I melt into the floor, unable to fault him for it. The room spins, so I squeeze my eyes shut. “I hate you.”
“I know, sweet potato.” Kit’s mouth moves up my stomach as he emerges from between my legs. He takes a detour to lave each of my breasts, sucking my nipples into his mouth before letting them go with a soft pop. I’m trembling with need again by the time he runs his tongue along the underside of my jaw.
“I don’t have a condom with me,” he says, voice taut with longing and disappointment. “Didn’t think I’d get this lucky.”
His hips settle between mine, the weight of him alone making that chasm in me feel wider, gnawing with hunger. He’s not playing fair. I don’t care. Tilting my hips to cradle his length against me, I admit, “I’m on birth control, and I’m safe. You?”
“I’m safe too.” He props himself up on his elbows, his chest rising and falling with shaking breaths. He shifts to cradle my head in his hands, forcing me to look him in the eyes.
Damn him. For all my wishes to keep this sex as impersonal and distant as I can, just to keep my fool of a heart safe, Kit’s intent on keeping us linked. We’re both connected to a live cable, and when we touch the track, there is only go, go, go.
“Andie,” he says in a low voice, “we don’t have to do this. I’ll stop.”
The tears from earlier are back, climbing up my throat. I can’t let him see them, so I crush my lips to his in a desperate kiss.
He kisses me back with a hunger that knocks the wind out of me and thrusts his hips in time with his tongue.