Page 88 of Paradox
I move on to his nipples and watch his pecs quiver, even though he tries to hide it.
I feel them get even harder beneath my fingertips until I can't resist any longer and lean down to lick one.
He lets out a short, sharp breath, and his hand slides over my shirt and up my back.
I run my top and bottom lips over it, then flick it with my tongue until his breath is quicker, and his fingers are back; tangled in my waves. Not guiding me, just holding me softly.
I pepper kisses back up over his collarbone to his shoulder.
To his neck.
To his jaw.
He turns his head like I had, and I brush aside his long hair.
The tattoo I hate so much is staring straight at me, but I trace up from the spider to the web with the tip of my tongue until I feel the prickle of the shaved part of his hair.
It feels like velvet when I run my fingers over it.
With both of his hands back at my hips, Eden draws them in and up to my waist; my t-shirt bunching as he goes. Then, in one swift motion, he lifts me, slouches further on the sofa, and sits me back down.
I do everything I can to remain emotionless as I feel his dick hard against my backside.
He remains steely too, until we’re at a standoff, and some unknown entity compels me to press my palm to the base of his throat.
His cock twitches beneath me, and as I slowly wrap my fingers around his neck, his eyes almost gloss over.
I straighten my arm, and push against him.
I rock my hips but Eden digs his fingers into my waist to stop me.
He shakes his head like he did back at the Christmas tree.
I squeeze harder around his throat.
One side of his mouth curls into a smirk.
My hand goes slack and falls to his chest.
My gaze is back on his lips, then up to his eyes and down again.
“Why won’t you take me?” I ask, but all I get is another infuriating shake of his head. “I know you want to.” He shakes his head again and I smack my hands against it. “Stop saying no!”
“No.”
“Screw you,” I mutter, and in retaliation, he stops looking at me.
I’m fed up now.
He refuses to do anything, but the grip he has on my waist is so tight I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. So I do the one thing I’ve been needing him to do since he handed me the pom-poms, and kiss him.
His response is instant. One arm wraps around my lower back to pull me closer, and the other slides beneath my t-shirt to press against my spine.
My fingers comb through his black hair until my forearms are resting on the sofa cushion behind him.
He tastes like the coffee he’s been drinking all morning.
His lips seem softer, or maybe it’s because he needs to shave and they feel like pillows compared to the rough spikes surrounding them.
