Page 39 of Head Over Heels

Chapter 19

Liv

His eyes are dark. Hard. Hot. Relentless—he won’t let me look away. He traces a finger up and down my sex through the lace, which is soaked through.

I can’t help it, I moan. And arch, lifting myself to get more of his touch. To get it where I need it.

He pulls his hand back.Bastard.I want that hand back. I want his hand under my panties. I want my panties gone, far, far away. I want—

“You’re so wet. Were you thinking about this? During dinner? In the living room?” he demands.

All I can do is nod.

“Good.” He gives me a look of pure male triumph, then grabs my ankles and pulls me to the edge of the bed.

“These are in the way,” he says, tugging my panties down. He pulls one leg up over each of his shoulders, settling between them. He kneels at the side of the bed and kisses my thigh, nibbling, breathing warmth that tingles everywhere. My nipples are so tight they hurt. Then he gives the other thigh the same treatment. He works his way up, alternating. “God, you smell good. Do you taste as good as you smell?”

His mouth is on me, soft, hot, skilled—his tongue circling to my center, then widening out. He is patient and relentless and unbelievably good at his craft, and he builds me up so slowly and steadily, the sensation beginning to spiral out, bigger and bigger, pulling more and more of me in, until I am coming, bucking as he holds my hips down, as he flattens one hand over my stomach and licks the last of my orgasm out of me.

“You taste even better than you smell,” he says, a self-satisfied smile on his face as he regards the slick mess of his handiwork.

All I can do is hum my approval. I’m throbbing so deeply and so thoroughly that it’s hard to think about anything else.

“Can I fuck you?”

I choke out a moan.

“Is that a yes?”

He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, liberates a square of foil, and drops it on the bed.

He pulls his T-shirt over his head.

“Wait. I want to look at you.”

His eyes meet mine, startled, and his face flushes. He stands by the side of the bed, not flexing or showing off, just letting me look. I slowly peel my limp rag of a self off the bed and run my hands over all the contours of his torso—the ridges in his abs, the taunting trail of hair, the hard-spun muscles that form his chest and shoulders and arms. And he lets me, his eyes closing in a fierce pleasure that makes me feel strangely, disturbingly tender.

I kneel up on the bed and touch my mouth to one of his nipples, then the other, and now it’s his turn to groan. “Liv—”

I trace the kiss down the center of his chest, down the center valley of his abs, to his navel, my tongue dipping in.

“Oh, Jesus, Liv, no, don’t.” He cups my face in his hands. “I will come before you can get your mouth on me.” He releases me and reaches into his jeans, adjusting himself, creating a gorgeous ridge under the denim and a tantalizing gap where his waistband no longer meets his skin.

His threat only eggs me on, because the idea of making Chase lose control dissolves my sanity.

I dip my tongue into the gap where his erection has distended his waistband and find him there, velvet and salty.

“Oh,shit,” he says, but doesn’t pull away.

I reach for the top button of his jeans, undo it. The next and the next and the next, until I can free him from his jeans and his briefs. I admit to myself that I have been anticipating this moment from the first clash of my hip against his erection yesterday. And he doesn’t disappoint. Long and thick and dark and swollen, the cut head plump and slick from pre-cum and my tongue. I can’t resist ducking my head again and swirling my tongue around him.

“Can I tell you something?”

His voice is thick and rough.

I nod, and swirl again.

“I’ve been fantasizing about this.”

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