Page 42 of Stone
Simon smiled, his lips against hers, then rolled her onto her back and covered her body with his, wedging a leg between her thighs. His hand slid to her rib cage, resting under her breast.
She pushed herself into his hand, desperate to feel him cup her, to feel his rough palm against her sensitive skin. But rather than comply with her not-so-subtle demand, he left his hand cradling her ribs and deepened their kiss. She started to protest, but as their tongues tangled and he parried and thrust, then retreated and teased, she realized that while she wanted more, in this moment,thiswas what she wanted—what she needed.
She’d never had a kiss quite like this—one so heated that her body felt as if it might explode. One that held so much promise, but no expectation. As if Simon would be happy to keep kissing her all night long. Not that she’d complain.
His hand shifted, and his thumb caressed the underside of her breast as his fingers closed around her ribs. His thigh rocked between hers, flexing against her.
Okay, she’d complain a little.
“More, Simon,” she said, pulling away only far enough to speak.
Neither the intensity of the kiss nor the tempo changed, and for a beat, she wondered if he’d heard her. Then his hand, his blessedly talented hand, curled around her breast and his forefinger and thumb captured her nipple. She arched into him as a sharp stab of desire shot down her abdomen and heat pooled low in her belly.
Lifting her leg, she wrapped it around his thigh, pulling him tighter against her core. At the same time, she curled her hip, pressing her body into his impressive erection. Beneath his boxers, he swelled against her as he clamped and rolled her nipple between his fingers.
“So fucking gorgeous,” he muttered, trailing kisses across her jaw and down her neck as she rode his thigh.
“More,” she said, knowing he’d understand. Understand that she wanted them both to find release, even if she wasn’t quite ready to take him fully into her body.
“Anything, any time,” he said, shifting his hand from her breast and sliding it toward the waistband of her boyshorts.
She grabbed his wrist before it disappeared under the fabric. “I don’t want this to be only about me.”
His dark eyes studied her, then in a flash, he withdrew his hand, grabbed hers, and pulled it under the waistband of his boxers. Curling her fingers around his length, he closed his eyes as he stroked himself, her hand under his, three times.
Heat poured off his body, and his unsteady breathing had her taking control, had her untangling her fingers from his to hold him on her own. She needed to feel his soft skin in her palm and to explore his arousal.
Without missing a beat, he released her hand, then slid his own down her belly and into her curls. When his fingers dipped inside her, his lips crashed against hers in a demanding kiss. She’d already been teetering on the edge, but the desire and need she felt in every one of Simon’s touches, in every one of the small sounds that escaped his throat, had her spiraling higher.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he said, spearing two fingers inside her. She gasped, then moaned as he pressed his thigh up, tightening the space and increasing the friction.
His cock jumped, and he pulled back from where his lips had been pressed against her neck. His eyes fluttered closed, as if focusing on the feel of her, of her hands on him, of his in her. The taut pleasure she saw there had her closing her own eyes and thinking only of him. Of his fingers exploring her, bringing her pleasure. Of his rigid length in her palm. Of the sounds of their heavy, uneven breaths, and the scents of sex and need.
The smell of Simon’s—their—arousal flooded her body as his need pulsed against her palm. She opened her mouth to say something, to tell him how good he felt, but no sound came out. Her head lolled back, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Of its own volition, her grip tightened around him. In response,he snapped his hips against her, moving within her hand, as his own fingers worked their magic on her. But it was his groan—thick and heavy with need—that sent her over the edge. Her orgasm crashed over her. Not a subtle flutter that grew and spread from her core to her toes, but a tsunami of pleasure that took her breath with it and tossed her body into an abyss.
She might have yelled, she might have moaned, she might have silently screamed. So focused on her body—on it clenching and clamping down on Simon, on the dampness that poured from her coating his palm—that the world could have ended around her and she wouldn’t have noticed.
Except she noticed Simon. Everything centered on the two of them. His hips pumping into her palm in the same rhythm as hers rode his hand. The pulse of his release in time with hers. The mingling of their breaths as pleasure stole them away. Then the steady silence that followed as their breathing slowed and what they’d shared sank in, the residual feelings of desire and need and satisfaction ebbing and flowing through their bodies.
She still held him, though gently, and his fingers were still buried inside her, though lax, as if neither wanted the moment to end. Eventually, Simon lowered his head until his forehead rested on her shoulder. Slowly, he withdrew his hand and splayed it across her belly. She considered being embarrassed by the wetness but couldn’t bring herself to care that much.
“You good?” he asked, raising his head. His dark eyes held a mixture of concern, lingering desire, and sleepy satiation.
“So good,” she said, raising the hand that wasn’t still tucked in his boxers and tracing the line of his hair across his forehead. She shifted to her side, and the move made her acutely aware of the wet spots they’d both created. She couldn’t help the sheepish smile when she added, “Although, we may need to do a load of laundry before we leave in the morning.”
22
Aload of laundry and a breakfast of toast and peanut butter preceded their departure from Hank’s. Stone had a hard time thinking of the house as his and his brother’s; neither of them would ever live there again. One day, after Hank moved out, they’d sell it. Again, neither of them needed the money, but it would make a nice nest egg for retirement. Or a college fund for kids.
That thought came from nowhere and had him drawing up short as he climbed behind the wheel.
“You okay?” Juliana asked, already perched in the passenger seat.
He blinked, then hauled himself the rest of the way in. “Yeah. All good.” He hadn’t ever considered having kids, although now that the thought had wormed its way into his head, he wasn’t sure why. As he’d told Juliana, unlike James, he craved family. He had it in the Falcons, but it wasn’t a huge leap to think about having something more traditional.
“You sure?” Juliana asked as he pulled out of the garage.
“Yep,” he said, pausing in the driveway to watch the door close before setting the alarm from his phone. And he was. Heliked the idea. He liked it even more when he pictured Juliana in his house with him.
