Page 25 of Make Me Yours
I slowed my pace while he drank me in. He swallowed roughly and brought both hands up to cup my breasts, rubbing his thumbs over my nipples. The desire reflected in his eyes shot a throbbing pulse straight to my clit. God, I wanted this man. I wanted him to make me his.
He dipped his head to kiss my breasts, pressing them together with his palms. He ran his tongue along my cleavage, teasing me. I wanted to feel his mouth on my hardened nubs, but he continued his soft, tortuous kisses. I wanted more, so much more, but if this was all I could have, I would take it, eagerly.
He continued nibbling and sucking on my breasts while my oil-slicked palm slid up and down between us.
My breasts jiggled with the effort of pumping my hand up and down, and our movements reflected back at us from the mirror made the experience all the more intimate. There was no hiding, no closed eyes, and no darkness to shield us.
Without warning he groaned out his release, burying his face in my neck.
I watched as a puddle of warm, white semen squirted onto his stomach and mine. We were both breathing hard when he kissed me.
“Why’d you do that?” he whispered against my lips.
“Because I wanted to.”
He grabbed a handful of tissues and cleaned me off first, then himself.
“What about you?” he whispered.
My heart rate skyrocketed, but I tried to appear composed as possible, shrugging at his question rather than answering it directly. I was desperate for his touch, but only if he wanted to touch me.
He kissed my lips softly then bent down, pressing damp kisses along my collarbone. He lowered himself farther to thoroughly suckle at each of my breasts, before dropping to his knees in front of me. I tossed my head back, in complete amazement at his talented mouth. He worked his way lower, kissing my belly, my hip bones. My heart was beating so erratically it felt like it was about to burst from my chest.
He gazed up at me and began untying the strings at my hips. My bikini bottoms fell away, and I found myself extremely thankful that I’d made time for my monthly waxing appointment the previous week.
He leaned forward and kissed my bare mound, teasing and moving lower with each kiss. My eyes were glued to him. He was beautiful and perfect, his dark eyelashes resting against his cheeks, and his full mouth against my most delicate parts.
“Cohen,” I moaned in frustration, shifting my hips closer. I prayed he knew what he was doing, because I felt like I was about to combust.
He opened his eyes and grinned up at me with a sexy half-smile. Then he gripped my hips and hauled me in close to his face. My knees nearly gave out when I felt his warm tongue lapping at my folds.
Holy shit!
I gripped his hair in my fingers and pressed him even closer, pushing my hips forward, greedy for more. He let out a breathy moan at my very direct instructions, but his tongue didn’t let up and he suckled, nipped and licked me up and down, spreading my folds apart with his thumbs and driving me completely insane. I didn’t know how he was doing what he was doing to me, but holy mother of God, it felt amazing. This boy might not have had sex before, but he clearly had practiced some other things.
Within a few minutes I was on the verge of coming, but felt like my knees were about to buckle any second. I struggled to stay upright, gripping the counter in front of me as the pressure built.
Cohen stopped suddenly and looked up at me. “Breathe, babe.”
I sucked in a breath, my chest rising rapidly. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath, and found it curious that Cohen had noticed even while his attention was otherwise diverted.
He smirked, and then brought his mouth to me again, the broad plain of his tongue darting out to taste me. My groans grew louder, and I tugged at Cohen’s hair, crying out his name with each precious flick of his tongue.
Just as my orgasm came my legs finally gave away, but Cohen was ready for it, holding me securely by my waist as he continued his slow torture, drawing out the last of my pleasure.
Chapter 9
My body hummed with euphoria after that orgasm of epic proportions and I was so dazed that I couldn’t even feel embarrassed about being completely naked. We made our way clumsily into the bedroom and Cohen helped me into one of his T-shirts. He held firmly onto my hips, helping me, while I climbed up the ladder to the top bunk. As I felt a cool breeze tickle my backside, I was suddenly reminded I wasn’t wearing any underpants—and I didn’t even want to know what kind of view Cohen had.
Once I was lying down, Cohen leaned over the side of the bunk and kissed my forehead. “Goodnight Eliza.” He tucked the covers around me securely before retreating to the bed below.
I settled in, drunk on Cohen’s touch and the aftereffects of my crippling orgasm combined with the many glasses of wine I’d consumed. I couldn’t help but notice the light scent of coconut oil was still on my skin and I smiled a sleepy grin. I knew I’d never look at that bottle of tanning oil the same way again. I would always envision Cohen’s parted lips and that string of soft curse words when I coated him in the warm oil. I curled onto my side, still smiling, and drifted off almost instantly.
***
When I woke the following morning, bright light streamed in through the loft windows and I flung the covers off me, sure I had overslept.
I noted Cohen’s bed was rumpled, but empty, and I headed into the bathroom. My discarded bikini lay in the center of the floor and I grinned when I remembered Cohen stripping it off me last night.
