Page 18 of Marrying the Guide
I clung to him, tangling my fingers in his hair, reveling in his solid, muscled frame pressed against mine. His heartbeat thundered against my chest, echoing my rapid pulse.
“Where’s your bedroom?” I managed, lost in the heady blend of desire and the sweet taste of Howell on my tongue.
Without breaking our kiss, he guided me down the dimly lit hallway, our mouths locked together in a dance as old as time. We stumbled, laughter bubbling up between kisses, my nerves dissipating in the face of Howell’s calm certainty. He steered me forward with one hand on my back, his other tracing the lineof my jaw, tilting my head back to deepen our connection. The carpet muffled our clumsy steps, cocooning us in our own world where nothing existed but the magnetic pull drawing us toward his bedroom.
“Can’t wait to feel you,” Howell whispered, his breath hot across my cheek, his voice low and husky with promise. Anticipation built, a bubbling fountain of need that eclipsed all thought beyond the overwhelming desire to be one with this man who had so unexpectedly captured my heart.
“Please,” was all I could utter, a plea wrapped in a sigh. We crossed the threshold into the sanctuary of his room. I had never wanted anything more. Had never wanted anyone more.
The door clicked shut behind us, and the world outside fell away. The urgency in Howell’s grasp ebbed, and he drew back. Confusion fluttered through me. It was quickly assuaged when he reached past me and flicked on a dimmer switch. A warm, amber glow suffused the room, casting shadows across his muscled form. He moved with a fluid grace, born from years of physical activity, and I was enraptured by his elegance.
“Wait here,” he murmured, delicately tracing my lower lip with his fingertip in a too-brief touch. The loss of contact left a tingling absence on my skin, a yearning for more.
He walked to an old-fashioned record player perched on a mahogany dresser. The needle dropped with a satisfying crackle, starting the sultry strains of a romantic ballad, a song that spoke of endless nights and fervent whispers. The music enveloped us, a velvet caress against my eardrums that pulsed in sync with the throbbing desire coursing through my veins.
Howell’s consideration pierced through the fog of lust clouding my mind. His concern was such a stark contrast to Gerard’s cold, calculating ways, where every encounter had felt transactional, devoid of care or forethought. Here was Howell, creating a bubble of intimacy, each detail a testament to histhoughtfulness, attention, and preparation in case I came home with him. Inside me, something profound built higher and higher and higher.
“Wow.” The word felt clumsy on my tongue, my voice betraying the swell of emotions rising like a tide within me. “This… It’s beautiful.”
He returned to me, his gaze tender. “For you,” he said simply. And those two words held a promise, a commitment that required no grand gestures, just a silent shared understanding.
His lips curved into a smile that made my heart stutter. He bridged the gap and captured my mouth with renewed passion. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of mint and the earthy hint of the forest that clung to him like a second skin. His scent—a whiff of sweat and the subtle cologne that seemed to embody the very essence of masculinity—filled my nostrils, anchoring me to the present when everything felt possible.
Howell’s hands, strong and sure, found the hem of my shirt and lifted it with a tantalizing slowness. As the fabric whispered over my skin, every nerve in my body stood at attention. His gaze roamed over me, dark and hungry.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, brushing his fingertips over the line where tension had once made a home across my shoulders, now melting under his touch.
His thumbs skimmed the waistband of my slacks, and I moved my hips forward to encourage him. A zipper parted like the prelude to an orchestra’s crescendo. The bedroom was warm, but as the thin material slid down my legs, the cool air kissed my heated skin, and a shiver raced through me.
Howell kneeled before me, the reverence in his eyes searing me more than any touch. He removed my socks one at a time, pressing a soft kiss to each ankle. Goosebumps trailed in the wake of his lips.
My boxer briefs were the last to come off, and he eased them down with care, kissing every inch of skin he revealed. I felt cherished, worshipped, precious. He only needed a few seconds to take his clothes off and then he lifted me off the ground as if I weighed nothing and carried me to the bed. Jesus, this man would be the death of me.
I was laid bare, vulnerable in the soft glow of the bedside lamps, yet there was no room for insecurities. Howell’s tender ministrations were a balm to the scars Gerard had left on my soul. Each caress was an affirmation, each kiss a promise of something pure.
“You’re so beautiful.” Howell mapped the territory of my flesh, fingers dancing over my ribs, teasing the sensitive skin until I was writhing beneath him, endless moans spilling from my lips.
His mouth followed the trail blazed by his hands, tasting every inch of exposed skin. I arched into the warmth of his touch, his lips, his tongue. When he wrapped his lips around a nipple, sucking gently, a low growl rumbled from my throat, and I tangled my hands in his hair, urging him closer, deeper.
And Howell, with the patience of a saint and the devilish intent of a sinner, complied. He worshipped my body with an intensity that bordered on devout, igniting fires in places I’d forgotten could burn. His tongue drew patterns down my stomach, swirling around my navel, stoking the flames higher with each lap.
“Please,” I gasped, hips bucking up in silent supplication.
His hot breath against my thigh teased the edge of desperation clawing inside me. Every muscle tensed, coiled tight as a drum. With a smile promising untold pleasures, he looked up at me, and my heart stumbled and fell. I was his, utterly, completely, irrevocably.
The world blurred into a haze of heat and need as Howell closed his lips around my cock, already wet at the tip. I hadn’t expected him to be comfortable doing this right away, but he took me in with calm confidence. What a turn-on. He licked and lapped, swirled and sucked. His mouth was a cocoon of warmth, his movements deliberate, skillful, each motion designed to unravel me piece by piece.
A symphony of sounds escaped from deep moans to ragged breaths, each note underscored by the sloppy, wet noises of Howell sucking me off. Fuck, he was good at this.
“Howell…” I panted, the world narrowing to the overwhelming presence of this man between my legs. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my skin was flushed.
And then there was the sight of him—brown eyes filled with a hunger mirroring my own. It was a look of pure intent, one that spoke of his desire not just to please but also to cherish.
“Close…so close,” I murmured, teetering on the edge as Howell doubled his efforts, digging his fingers into my hips with possessive intensity.
With a cry, I came undone, and waves of release crashed over me as my cock spurted its load. Howell kept suckling me, drawing out every shuddering pulse of ecstasy until I was spent, a tangle of trembling limbs and raw nerves.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking like a man who was mighty pleased with himself—as he should be. He stretched out next to me and held out his arm, and I snuggled close.