Page 70 of Every Silent Lie
Dec drops his shirt with my dress and unfastens his belt. “Take your bra off,” he whispers, nodding to my chest. I keep my eyes on his face as I unhook my bra and let the straps fall into the crooks of my arms, freeing my aching breasts. My nipples tingle, and Dec’s eyes smoke, his hands faltering on his fly. Leaving his trousers hanging open, he dips and pulls his socks off. Then he pushes his trousers down, revealing thick thighs coated in dark hair, his boxers hugging them.
The bulge of his erection.
I bite my lip and peek up at him. This prime, virile man.
“Still nervous?” he asks quietly, as we stand opposite each other, both naked except for his boxers and my knickers.
I shake my head, unable to keep my distance a moment longer. I walk into his chest and pull his mouth down to mine, swallowing his groan. His fingers slip into the side of my knickers and shove them down my thighs, and I return the favour, slipping both hands past the material of his boxers and easing them over his arse. In just a few seconds, we’re both completely naked and Dec’s palms rest on my hips, lifting me to his body. My arms loop his neck, my legs curl around his waist, my lips not leaving his for even a moment. I don’t need to see when I’m feeling so much.
With his head craned back to accommodate me, he circles my tongue lightly as he walks a few paces and bends, taking me down to the bed. He brushes against my entrance, and I whimper, feeling a need so powerful pounding between my thighs, feeling his too, his hard length throbbing. “I’m really fucking hoping you tell me I don’t need to cover up,” he says urgently, every inch of his body rubbing against me as he rips his mouth off mine, leaving me gasping, and kisses between my breasts, gently circling his floating palm above my boob, just close enough for it to graze the tip of my nipple.
We’ve both said we can’t have kids, so we’re not talking about worries of an accidental pregnancy. We’re talking about my promiscuous lifestyle. “You don’t need to.” I writhe across the sheets, blissing out further when I feel the scratch of his bristles on the inside of my thighs. My head spins. Do I need to ask him the same? What a fool I am. “And you?” I ask, breathless.
He nips at my inside thigh and looks up my body. “What about me?”
Confusion gets me, and it gets me good. “Are you . . .” Fuck, how do I word this?
“I haven’t slept with anyone in nearly five years, Camryn.”
My mouth drops open as he gazes at me, unapologetic and unashamed. “Five years?”
“I haven’t had the time or the desire.” He turns his face into my thigh and nips again. “Now I really have the desire.”
Five years? How? This gorgeous, successful brooding, sexy man. How is that even possible?
“Are we done?” he asks.
“We’re done.” And I’m in shock. Five years? He said his wife left four years ago.
“Good.” His tongue meets my heat.
“Oh my God!” I jack up off the bed, a million bolts of pleasure shooting through me. “Dec!”
“Shh,” he whispers, sucking my clit into his mouth gently. “Spread your legs more.”
I’m dizzy, floating, which seems to erase the heaviness I carry around with me daily. My legs fall open, my hand slipping into his hair, as he seduces my pussy with a lax tongue, looking up at me to watch as I absorb every stroke. As much as I’d love to keep my neck craned to see him, I’m becoming boneless with pleasure. So I rest my head back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, circling my hips onto his mouth.
Floating.
I close my eyes and sink into the sheets, stroking through his hair as he keeps the fire burning, blood rushing to my head. All thoughts of his abstinence for five fucking years disappears, and my feelings for him accelerate.
When his hand rests on my boob and squeezes, I reach and hold it in place, massaging with him.
I’m not going to be a man you fuck and forget, Camryn.
If Dec never laid a finger on me ever, never kissed me, never held me, was never intimate with me, I still could never forget him. There’s a gentle authority about him that had me from the second he appeared next to me at the bar. A strength I’m not familiar with.
Falling.
I was falling before this moment. I was falling before he even kissed me. Now I feel like I’m past the point of return, and as he worships me, I don’t care what that means.
I open my eyes as my inner walls constrict, the pressure fast approaching bursting point. My hand tightens in his hair, my other over his hold of my breast, my gaze dropping down my chest. Drowsy eyes meet mine, and I gasp, flexing my hips. His free hand slides under my thigh and pushes my leg back, opening me wider, and he comes up for air briefly, panting, his mouth glistening as he stares at my swollen pussy.
Damp strands of hair tumble across his forehead, the grey flecks glistening, and then his eyes find me again as he slowly lowers and licks up my centre, from front to back. “Dec.” His name is a warning, my nerves twitching. He relieves me of his mouth, and I move his hand from my boob and push it into the centre of my chest so he can feel my heart thundering. “I think I might die of pleasure,” I whisper, drunk on him. Sated without even being sated.
He crawls up my body slowly, almost prowling, and settles atop of me, from feet to head, his arousal wedged between us, hot and wet with leaking precum. He cages my head in his bent arms. “And what a way to go,” he murmurs, reaching for my face and gently pushing back a piece of hair. “You taste so good.”
I drag my thumb across his bottom lip, wiping myself away from his mouth, and as he stares down at me, I swallow, alarmed by the thoughts running rampant in my mind.
