Page 89 of Five
Neve sighs and throws her head back, giving me better access, so I cruise my mouth down her throat, licking and nibbling, drawing soft cries from her kiss-swollen lips.
I seek out the hard nubs of her breasts, covering them with my mouth and suckling through the fabric while my hands are on an exploration of their own, stroking along her long, silky thighs until I find her wet and ready.
She undulates her hips against my roving fingers, eager and impatient, but I take my time, slipping between her folds and finding her slick with need before I coat her clit with her own cream.
“Please, Oz,” she whispers, pressing against me.
I don’t draw things out. This sex is solace, not lust, meant to comfort and reassure rather than enflame. Slipping into her hot, wet heat is like coming home. I sheathe myself to the hilt and take a moment just to savor in the sensation.
I find her lips again as I start to move, taking her at a slow, leisurely pace.
One day soon I want her sandwiched between the five of us, taking one of us in every orifice while we rock her world, but for now, I’m more than happy to have her to myself.
“Touch yourself,” I demand as she arches against me.
She pauses for a moment, and at first, I think she won’t. But then her hesitant fingers venture to her clit and she strokes herself while I nip at her breasts.
I hear her breathing fracture and know she’s close, so I pick up the pace, thrusting into her with long strokes and bottoming out against her cervix.
As her orgasm hits her, and Neve starts to buck, her fingers graze my cock where we’re joined, and that simple touch makes me explode, her contractions milking me of my cum until we collapse together in a sated heap.
Maybe I’ll sleep better than I expected to tonight.
I hope so because tomorrow is bound to bring a new set of horrors.
If I’d known just how true that was, I might never have slept at all.
Twenty-Three
Neve
Mood:whatdoyousay to taking chances?
When I wake up, the bedsheets are cold beside me. I sit up, dislodging Jamie Fraser from where he’s coiled around my neck, and stretch. I guess I’m going to have to get used to Oscar getting up and leaving at the booty crack of dawn when he stays the night.
I climb out of bed and get myself together, pulling my hair into a knot on the top of my head and giving my face a quick rinse before moisturizing and tossing on a pair of sweatpants that managed to make it past Caroline. I took a shower last night after Oscar and I made love, so there’s no need for an immediate one this morning.
Outside my patio doors, a cotton candy sunrise beckons. I answer the call, deciding a morning walk is the perfect way to shake the lingering doldrums from yesterday’s epic disaster. Jamie Fraser accompanies me, darting out the door when I open it to run a few feet ahead of me on the path.
“Better not run off, you big orange doofus,” I murmur, and set off on a brisk walk down toward the beach. The cat trots beside me like a dog, occasionally stopping to rub against a plant or inspect a bug. He breaks off after a few minutes, choosing to amble down one of the paths leading to the cottages instead of continuing toward the ocean with me. I let him go, knowing there aren’t too many places on this small island for him to get lost or injured. He’ll come back when he’s finished exploring.
As I near the beach, I spy a solitary figure in the gazebo that fronts the small strip of sand at the ocean’s edge. He leans out over the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon, oblivious to my approach.
Cope.
My heart squeezes at the dejected lines of his body, the slump of his shoulders and the droop of his head, as though it’s too heavy for his neck to hold up at its usual proud angle. As I get close enough, the sounds of him muttering to himself reach me.
Stupid.
Fool.
Dumbass.
One job.
I draw nearer cautiously, not wanting to intrude but possessed by a need to make whatever it is better. “Cope?”
He turns, and the expression on his face…the utter wreckage of a strong man laid bare…ruins me.
