Page 80 of Tipping Point

Page List Listen Audio Download Book

Font:

It’s nothing like London. Then she had paused, and with a sigh, she had given in and she had let me devour her.

Now, she’s holding her own, pushing back.

When I reach around her and cup her ass in my hands, her own hands wrap around my back and she digs her fingertips into me, pulls me closer.

I pick her up and hitch her up to my waist, where she wraps her legs around me and squeezes.

She throws an arm around my neck and deepens the kiss. The other hand she drags slowly up my back, fingers still digging into my flesh.

She’s pressed against me, trembling, and she fucking rocks her hips, grinds against the full length of my dick.

When I groan, she closes her lips over mine, swallowing the sound. It turns the ache into a searing pain inside my chest that can only be soothed if I can bury myself inside her and pound into her, hard.

I am a man possessed.

Her tongue swirls over mine. Insistent. Her hand at my back grabs a fist full of shirt and tugs. I am frantic to be inside her.

I turn us towards the table, hike her up before I remove one hand, tip the table so that the bowls and wine glasses tumble off, shattering on the flagstones.

The kiss almost breaks as she startles, but I place her down on the table, legs still around my waist, and give her lip a small bite before I release her. She tugs my shirt up and over my head and I grab her by the throat, her pulse beating against my palm, and bring her swollen lips, glistening from my kiss, back to mine.

I shiver when her hands run over my chest, my shoulders, her hand exploring the rough, pitted skin of my burn scar, fingertips tracing the swirls in my flesh.

My own hands are wrapped around her knees, and I pull her closer, lean over her, press myself throbbing up against her. I want to be inside her like this, railing away.

She arches up against me when I dip my hands under her shirt to pull it over her head, trapping the fabric between us. Her nipples are hard through the fabric as they brush against my chest, and I want to run my tongue around their dusky tips and nip down their sides along her ribs.

I run my palm up her back and unhook her bra, feeling the bare length of her as I draw my hand up to her neck and place my splayed fingers along her skull, twisting her face away.

With her head to one side, her neck and ear are at my mouth, and I drop my chin to the racing pulse below her ear and it’s the most honest thing I can think to do, to show her how much I want her. I stall, the weight of her head in my palm, my other hand on the bare of her back, and I breathe short, ragged breaths into the shell of her ear.

When she strangles her fists into my hair to pull me to her, I run my hands up her ribs and she allows me to tug her shirt over her head before her stormy eyes lock on mine, a grey-blue tempest. Her loose bra comes off with the shirt, her porcelain skinned breasts, heavy and full between us—the dusky rose of her nipples, hard in the evening air.

She’s fumbling at her own jeans, undoing the button, and I jam my thumbs into the waistband on each hip and tear the shorts off as she lifts herself to help me. I want to take her in my mouth again but she’s already fumbling with my pants and when she undoes the button she reaches inside, runs a fingertip over the silky head with a swirl, wiping away the bead of slippery cum, then reaches further, sliding her hand down over the length of me and clenches her fist around my base. Her tongue is already twisting around my own, drawing me in deep, and she throws an arm around my shoulders, raising herself off the table. She’s so ready for me she wants to lower herself onto me as I shrug out of my pants. She presses her soft tummy, hot, against my own as she lines herself up against me. I grab her ass and raise her up, then pause.

I have condoms in my room.

“Should I-”