Page 47 of Hopelessly Teavoted
“Shhh,” he said. “I need to do this carefully so I can remember it. I want you to beg. Desperate for me.”
He had no shame now, no room to be embarrassed at the bare urgency. He ran his fingers across her back again, trying to cool them. “You feel so good, and I need you so much. I always need you, but it’s excruciating. It hurts, Vickie, the way I need you right now.”
“Yes,” she gasped out, running her hands up his shirt, tracing his stomach and the clenching muscle lower in his abdomen, the waistband, to prove that two could play a game of wanting. Of teasing.
He kissed her neck, increasing the pressure of his lips the way he knew she liked, her soft noises increasing and her body tensing around him, driving him out of his mind. He smiled as he felt her rub against him, the friction between their clothing almost unbearable. Almost.
He was dying to make her scream his name, and then to haul the hot wetness of her down on him. But he had waited so damn long, and he intended to savor this, and to ignore the cramping in his hand. He’d deal with whatever odd injury was paining him later.
“Azrael,” she sighed into his mouth, and he met it with his, lips clashing, tongues exploring, swallowing her sounds. He dipped his hand lower, back past her zipper, and slipped his hand between the denim and her panties first, savoring her gasps, and then, tugging them aside, slid his fingers into the hot wetness of her that cleared his mind of every other thought, rubbing for a few moments and then pulling them out.
“What are you doing?” She moaned the question.
He drew his fingers out slowly and licked them, not breaking eye contact.
“You taste so good that I could die to put my mouth on that sweetness,” he gasped, thankful, for once, for the gravedirt that meant she would know how serious he was.
“Please, Azrael, fuck me now. Taste me later.”
Her fingers were unzipping his pants now, and then scrambling up his chest under his shirt. He ached for her in the dim light streaming into the car.
“Azrael, pretend,” she whispered. “Please.”
The words were talons ripping his soul a little, that she thought this would end badly, but he didn’t care. He would give her exactly what she asked for.
He always had. He always would.
Biting his lip and concentrating to keep from unraveling, he held her hair with the tingling, burning hand and her hip with the other, committing the moment to memory.
She rolled her hips, and he couldn’t take it any longer. Moving his hand down and gripping her shirt, he thrust against her, pulling her on top of him and then hauling her off, dry humping like they were teenagers again, whispering dirty nothings into her ear and moaning.
“Tell me,” he sighed against her ear, noting how her breath caught as his lips brushed her soft skin. Could they unravel like this? Fabric against fabric, desperate, and in half measures?
Azrael swore to himself that he would always capture every detail of her pleasure. He had failed at so many things, and at telling her so many times, but never at loving Vickie. Never at wanting her, mind, body, and soul.
“Tell me,” he said, more insistent this time.
“What?” Vickie asked. Her face was flushed and heated as he trailed kisses along her jawline, moving to finally trace that constellation of freckles down the column of her neck. This was better than every time he’d pictured this moment.
“Tell me you want me. Tell me how much.” Azrael surprised himself with the force of his own words, as though they had been building under a façade of caring less. The more she begged him to pretend, the faster his pretense crumbled around him. All his walls. His soul, too, maybe. And his fucking left hand ached now, as though she were undoing the ligaments holding his bones together.
“I,” she started. Her breath was ragged, and he kissed her neck, slipping his hand between them once more and continuing the motion with his thumb, harder. Listening for the susurration of her breath to tell him what she liked most. He wanted her undone. Insensible.
“What was that, Vickie?” he growled, snapping his fingers behind her to alleviate the twinge in his back from the angle in the car, and the ache in his hand, and then pushing back up through her shirt, hand skating upward, into her hair, pulling her closer.
He needed her closer. Always.
Her lips were on his now, and then she was whispering, almost into his mouth.
“You don’t have to bother trying to make me think of you when I’m all alone in my apartment. I already do. When I touch myself, I always think of you. That’s how badly I’ve wanted this.”
Fuck. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out before tearing her clothes off and hauling her down on top of him.
“Me, too, Vickie. Me too. I want everything with you.”
“I don’t think we can have everything. But I want this, at least,” she said.
That hurt, but he gritted his teeth, moving his thumb down in relentless circles and snapping his fingers to increase the pressure on her neck, her ears, the rosy buds of her nipples, which he could see peeking through her shirt and her thin bra.
