Page 22 of The Placeholder
I crawl over her, bracing myself on my forearms to keep from crushing her. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and I can feel the heat of her body radiating through our clothes. I claim her mouth in a slow, deep kiss, taking my time to taste her properly. My tongue slides against hers, and she makes a slight sound in the back of her throat that sends fire racing through my veins.
“Let me see you,” I whisper against her lips, my fingers finding the buttons of her blouse.
One by one, I undo them, revealing inches of creamy skin that I immediately claim with my mouth. Each newexpanse exposed becomes a canvas for my lips and tongue. The hollow of her throat, the curve of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts rising above the lace of her bra—I worship it all, drawing soft gasps from her lips.
I slide the fabric from her shoulders, tossing it aside, then make quick work of her shorts, tugging them down her legs until she’s left in nothing but matching pale blue lingerie. The sight of her nearly undoes me.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I growl, running my hands up her thighs, feeling the muscle quiver beneath my touch.
Her fingers find the hem of my shirt, tugging impatiently. “Your turn,” she says, her voice husky with want.
I sit back on my heels and pull my shirt over my head in one fluid motion. Her eyes darken as they roam over my chest, and her hands follow, tracing the ridges of my abs, the dips and valleys carved from years of disciplined training. Her touch is feather-light yet leaves a trail of fire in its wake.
“Like what you see?” I ask, flexing slightly under her exploration.
Her answer is to reach for my belt, nimble fingers working the leather free. The sound of my zipper sliding down is almost painfully loud in the quiet room. I help her push my jeans down, kicking them off the edge of the bed, leaving me in nothing but black boxer briefs that do little to hide my arousal.
I lower myself over her again, claiming her mouth in a kiss that’s all heat and hunger. My hand slides beneath her, finding the clasp of her bra and flicking it open with practiced ease. I pull the lace away, revealing her perfectbreasts, and waste no time taking one rosy nipple into my mouth.
The sound she makes—half gasp, half moan—shoots straight to my groin. I suckle her gently, my tongue circling the sensitive peak while my free hand caresses her other breast. Her back arches, pressing her more firmly against my mouth, and I take the opportunity to slide my hand down her stomach to the waistband of her panties.
I hook my fingers under the delicate fabric and slowly drag it down her legs, my mouth never leaving her breast. Once the scrap of lace is gone, I kiss my way down her body—the valley between her breasts, the soft plane of her stomach, the jut of her hipbone. Each inch of skin receives my devotion, my hands stroking her sides, her thighs, everywhere I can reach.
“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” I murmur against her inner thigh, my breath hot against her most sensitive skin.
She complies immediately, and I groan at the sight of her, pink and glistening with arousal. I settle between her thighs, draping her legs over my shoulders, and take a moment just to look at her—so vulnerable, so trusting, so goddamn beautiful it makes my chest ache.
Then I lower my head and taste her with a long, slow stroke of my tongue. Her hips buck against my mouth, a strangled cry escaping her lips. I grip her thighs, holding her in place as I explore her thoroughly, alternating between broad strokes and precise flicks against her swollen clit. Her hands find my hair, fingers twisting in the strands, pulling just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure-pain down my spine.
I slip one finger inside her, then two, curling them tofind that spot that makes her writhe. My mouth never stops its attention on her clit, licking and sucking in rhythm with the thrust of my fingers. Her thighs begin to tremble against my shoulders, her breathing turning to ragged pants.
“That’s it,” I encourage against her sensitive flesh. “Let go for me, Della. I want to feel you come on my tongue.”
Her body tightens, back arching off the bed as she shatters with a cry that might be my name. I don’t relent, working her through the waves of her orgasm, easing off only when her body goes slack against the sheets. But I’m not nearly done with her.
Before she can fully recover, I’m back at it, this time focusing all my attention on that bundle of nerves, circling it with the tip of my tongue while my fingers pump steadily inside her. Her second climax hits faster than the first, a surprised gasp torn from her throat as her body clenches around my fingers.
“Axel,” she moans, her voice breaking. “Oh God, Axel.”
I could spend hours like this, drawing those sounds from her lips, feeling her come apart beneath my touch. I bring her to the edge a third time, slower now, building her up with deliberate precision, drinking in every whimper, every plea. When she finally breaks, it’s with a scream that echoes off the high ceiling, her entire body shuddering with the force of her release.
I kiss my way back up her body, savoring the salt of her skin, the rapid beat of her heart beneath my lips. When I reach her mouth, I let her taste herself on my tongue, groaning when her hand slides down to palm me through my boxers.
“I need to be inside you,” I growl against her lips, my control hanging by a thread. “I’ve waited too long already."
“Yes,” she breathes, her eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure but still burning with desire. “I need you too.”
With those words, my last shred of willpower disappears.
I tear my boxers down, kicking them off with an urgency I can barely contain. The sight of Della spread beneath me, skin flushed and glistening, eyes heavy with desire, nearly breaks my last thread of control. I position myself between her thighs, the head of my cock sliding through her slick folds, gathering her wetness.
“Look at me,” I command, my voice a rough rasp I barely recognize.
Her eyes lock with mine, pupils blown wide with desire. I push forward slowly, feeling her body yield to mine inch by excruciating inch. The sensation is overwhelming—tight, wet heat enveloping me—and I have to grit my teeth to keep from losing myself immediately.
“Fuck,” I groan, my forehead dropping to rest against hers. “You feel... God, Della, you feel perfect.”
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, nails biting crescents into my skin as I sink fully into her. I hold still, giving us both a moment to adjust to this new, exquisite connection. Her breath comes in short pants against my lips, her inner muscles fluttering around me.
