Page 27 of The Crush
Not ready. Not ready. Not ready.
“You feel so—” Her voice cracks, high and breathy, breaking through the fog. Her arms slip out from under mine to loop back around my neck as she continues to ride it out. “Feelsogood.”
This is what I want. I want to be the one to make her feel good, and the praise from her is almost enough to make me finish. Even as my instincts tell me to keep going, to give her more.
Her head tilts back against my shoulder, her mouth nipping and kissing along my jaw, and I groan out a warning even as I shudder.
“Want to feel you come, too.” Her lips ghost against mine, and I know if I give in and kiss her, I’m done for. “Danny,please…”
One of my hands reaches up to the base of her throat, keeping her in place, and I’m so close but I’m still not ready.
Her fingers fist in my hair and tug me down, her mouth attacking mine with more strength than I would have given her credit to still have in her. I groan, lost in her all over again, and this time I’m too far gone to pull back. She’s like fire in my veins, spreading out from the base of my spine to the tips of my fingers still digginginto her skin. But when it’s over, I don’t feel destroyed. I only feel…content. Grateful, as her body relaxes back into mine.
“I think we’re setting some sort of record,” she whispers against my cheek, and I laugh before gathering her up and lowering us both back down onto the bed.
“Not sure…” She presses a kiss to my heated skin, then yawns as she stretches out beside me. She gives me a sleepy smile, and my pulse skips, the sensation so uncomfortable that I wonder if maybe I’ve overdone it. “Not sure how we’re supposed to go back to quickies in your truck.”
Later, once she’s asleep again, her breathing steady and even, I’m still wide awake and thinking. Because I’m not sure either.
Twenty-Three
Isabel
Saturday, October 1, 1994
When I wake, it’s late morning, the bright light filtering through the curtains and casting the room in a lovely golden glow.
For a moment I’m disoriented, coming out of a sleep so deep that I forget where I am. But the weight of a strong arm around my middle, a long leg tucked between mine, and the measured rise and fall of a warm chest at my back reminds me quickly.
Danny.I turn slowly in his arms, trying my best not to disturb him, but I still catch the quick frown and furrowed brow as he adjusts to the change in his sleep. When I settle again, he grips me tighter.
He really is unfairly handsome. Long dark eyelashes women would kill for, careless bedhead waves across his brow, a whiskered jaw strong enough to match the expressions it carries.No wonder no one else has ever been able to compare.
I lift up, wanting to see more of him, and he grumbles in his sleep before reluctantly giving up his hold on me and sprawling out on his back.
I study him for a few minutes, realizing this is the first time I’ve actually seen him asleep. Seen him look so relaxed with all the worry lines eased from his face, his arms thrown above his head. Wide biceps tapering into lean forearms and open palms.
I’m tempted to lie back down next to him, close my eyes again until he stirs, but I’m even more drawn to the idea of him waking up feelingwanted, like all he has to do is simply exist. Like the way he makes me feel.
I begin moving lower, my lips brushing against his chest, nosing along his ribs, tugging the sheet down with me as I go.
He’s already hard, the thick length of him resting flush against his stomach as he sleeps. He starts to stir when I place my hands against his thighs, cracking an eye open to watch me.Light sleeper after all.
“What are you up to, bonita?” His voice is still thick with sleep, rough in a way that I like, and I smile before bending down and running my tongue over the tip of him.
“Fuck.” He jerks, both his eyes open now. Deep brown blowing black. “Do that again.”
I do but not quite the same. This time I start at the base, licking up the underside to the top, where I place a gentle kiss on the tip. When I do it again, his head falls back, his neck taut and his hands gripping his pillow.
“Put me in your mouth, Isabel,” he groans, and I shift my hips in response, feeling the beginning of that delicious ache.
Eagerly, I part my lips to take him, and the salty taste of him hits my tongue. I go lower, firmly gripping the base with my hand, touching him in the exact way he taught me that he likes. Thememory of that lesson combines with reality, and I can feel myself getting wet without him even needing to touch me.
I whine around him when I go as deep as I can. My jaw aching when he can’t seem to keep from moving his hips, but I can’t seem to focus on anything apart from hearing him moan until he’s suddenly pulling me up and rolling me beneath him.
“Wait, I wanted—” My hands run up and down his chest, nails digging in as I arch into him.God, I had wanted—no,needed—to feel him. “You could’ve—I wanted to make you come.”
He shakes his head, his tongue pressing against his bottom lip as his hand slips down between our bodies to cup me, his talented fingers cutting my complaints short as I groan.
