Page 12 of Love Potion No. 69
I smile and hold my palm out for hers. She takes it, and another tingle passes into me from the touch. I squeeze her hand. “That right there,” I say, looking down at our joined hands, “whatever that is?Thatis why we’re doing this. I don’t know what it is, either, Clementine. But I know this: you are, without a doubt, the sexiest, smartest, most infuriatingly hard-headed, stubborn woman I have ever met, and I absolutely need you.”
“Do you have a condom?” she blurts.
“Always.”
“Prove it.”
“Always the scientist, eh?” I smile and walk to the bathroom to retrieve the handful in my dopp kit—years of living with Axl in Coal’s Lake taught me to never leave home without them—and brandish them as I return. Her eyes follow me as I lay them on the bedside table and turn back to her. “I want you to know how hard it is not to tackle you right now.”
She heaves a sigh and studies me. Then she cracks a smile, and I swear I hear lightning crackle across the sky. “Good enough for me,” she says, then yanks out the pencil holding her hair up, and lunges.
I catch her with aoh thank fuckexhale, and in seconds she’s peeling my suit jacket off and yanking my tie loose, then making quick work of my shirt.
“Why the hell did you wear a tie?” she mutters, her small, warm hands exploring my chest.
“Because they make me—” I hiss in a breath as she runs her thumbs over my nipples—“feel like I know what I’m doing.”
She chuckles. “How’s that going for you?”
“Fucking awesome,” I answer, shoving her biker jacket down, pulling her shirt over her head, then snapping her bra off. “Jesus,” I whisper as I finally get a good look at her in the light. “Clementine…”
She tips her chin high, and the movement cracks something deep inside my chest. The burn on her arm goes all the way up to her shoulder, splattering onto the top part of a pert breast. “I was six.”
I shake my head. “You misunderstand. You’re perfect, Clementine.”
She blushes, her cheeks deepening in the late morning light and making her even more gorgeous. Wordlessly, I bend to take a mouth-watering nipple in my mouth, listening for her reaction and adjusting as I go. This woman will get whatever she needs and wants from me, and then some. She moans as I band an arm around her waist, and it seems to flip the switch.
Need screams to the surface, raw and unfettered, shredding all pretense of subtlety and patience. Our hands are on each other’s pants, yanking them down and off along with underwear, shoes and socks, until we’re completely naked, then I’m walking backwards and we’re falling into the bed, our mouths all over each other, teeth and tongues and panting, and I’m beside her, trailing my hand down between her legs to feel her warmth. She spreads her legs, and I dip my fingers between her folds.
She closes her eyes, luxuriating in the feel as my thumb finds and circles that perfect bundle of nerves. I kiss her temple, her forehead, her sloped nose, her cupid’s bow lips. She’s a wood nymph come to life, and as she pushes her fingers against my hair, humming at the pleasure I’m giving her, I wonder at how I’ve gone this long without her. Because it’s obvious, so fucking obvious, that she was meant for me. It’s in the way we’re breathing in synch. It’s in the way I’m already so tuned into her, how I knew exactly where to find her this morning, how the rest of the world seems to fall away when her eyes open and settle on mine.
I push one finger into her, the both of us moaning at the movement, then I pull it out and add another. “Tell me what you like,” I whisper, crooking my fingers inside her, then doing it all over again. Her muscles tense around my efforts. She’s close.
“This,” she mews. “How do you—fuck,” she breathes.
“There you go,” I say. “Come for me, Sprite.”
She stills, her entire body stiffening for a moment, then she yells my name as she comes apart, her chest blooming with a deep blush that looks exactly like the blooms of the Elysian Blossom. Because of course it does. I kiss her as she rides the orgasm out on my hand, and before I realize what she’s doing, she’s flipped me onto my back and is straddling me, her wet heat sliding across my bare cock.
“Fuck, Clementine.” It’s almost a prayer.
She rises up and leans for a condom, her dark hair curtaining over her body as she moves. Keeping the foil between two fingers, she shifts, moving between my legs and seeming to hum in delight at what she finds.
“Damn, Q,” she says naughtily, her emerald eyes gleaming as she looks up at me. I clench my fists, nearly coming at the very sight of her poised above my cock and licking her lips. “You’re working with some serious stuff here.” Still kneeling, she pulls her hair over to the side and twists it, then hands the condom to me. “You’re gonna want to hold this.”
“Holy fuckingshit, Clementine.”
She laughs, a deep, satisfied sound that I did not expect to come out of her. Her lips twitch, then she says, “Oh, sweetheart, you’re mine. Love potion or not. Real or not. This dick is mine.”
I don’t know what she’s talking about, but I don’t give a fucking god damn because she’s right, I’m hers, always. “Yours,” I say, then groan as she licks the tip.
“Watch,” she commands, wrapping one hand around the base of my shaft and the other around my balls, and I swear to god, I have never in my life been more turned on than I am right now. So I do. I watch her suck my cock like a fucking champion, and it takes all of sixty seconds before I’m warning her that I’m about to come.
She increases her work, humming and pumping, but I’m not having it. I scoot out from beneath her, heaving, damn near glaring at her for almost making me lose it.
“Woman,” I growl.
She raises her eyebrows saucily and shrugs. “I told you. It’s mine.”