Page 110 of If You Claim Me
When was the last time I touched someone like this? It’s been ages since I’ve come for anyone but myself—apart from last night.
My hand leaves his body, and his eyes flip open, flashing with disappointment. Until I pull my sweater over my head and let it fall to the floor—then they ignite with lust.
“Would it be fair for me to undress you if you’re undressing me, darling?” His voice is low and guttural.
“Was it fair of you to deny me the chance to touch you last night?”
“You were in quite the state,” he reminds me. “I wanted you to have a clear head before you started doing things you might have reconsidered come morning.”
“But you denied me again this morning,” I remind him as I trace the letters on his chest.
“In the name of hydration and time with your friends,” he counters as he kisses the back of my hand. “Evil, I know, but I was thinking of your personal well-being and happiness.”
I sigh. I was hungover this morning. I doubt I would have appreciated him the way I can now. “I suppose, in the spirit of giving, we could undress each other.”
“Mm...” He kisses my shoulder and reaches behind me, flicking the clasp of my bra. “Such a sweet, generous wife.” The fabric slides down my arms, and I let it fall to the floor as Connor drops to one knee. He rids me of my pants, then my socks and panties. But he doesn’t make a move to touch any aching part ofme. Instead he presses his lips to my strawberry blossom and ladybug tattoo. “So pretty and delicate.”
He looks up at me. “What should we do now that all our secrets are on display, darling?”
I pull myself up onto the bed and slide back, patting the space to my right. “Come join me.”
He climbs up and stretches out. I’m five five, so slightly above average, but Connor is huge, well over six feet of broad, thickly muscled, tattooed man. Yet I feel safe with him, comfortable and protected. When his head rests on the pillow I straddle his thighs and settle my bare pussy over his still-covered erection.
Connor exhales on a groan. “Little menace.”
Palms splayed on his chest, I roll my hips, rubbing my clit against him as I dip down and brush my lips over his. Between one breath and the next, he flips us over.
“What are you doing?” I run my fingers through his hair. “I thought it was my turn to play with you.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” He kisses my chin. “And how unbalanced things have been.”
“Unbalanced how?” I’m already breathless and aching for his touch.
Sure, I can get off without contact, but it takes so much mental effort. Everything has to be perfect, my mind clear with no distractions and the right voice in my head, whispering all the things I want to hear.
He peppers kisses along my jaw. “You’ve been playing with me for a while now, being sneaky about it, like the pretty devil you are.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My eyes fall closed as his lips skim my neck. His tongue presses against my clavicle, followed by a gentle grip of teeth that sparks heat between my thighs.
“Of course you don’t.” He takes my earlobe in his mouth.
“What sneaky things have I done?”
“Falling asleep in the library every night.”
I bite back a grin. “I’m not being sneaky. I like it there, and it feels safe.”
“You like it when I carry you back to bed.”
I love it when he carries me back to bed. “I’d be fine on the couch,” I assure him in a bored voice. “I’ve told you as much.”
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, lips skimming my collarbone. “You never have enough blankets.”
“I don’t need more blankets when you insist on relocating me every night,” I argue.
“You’re proving my point, darling, not your own.” His cheek brushes my nipple, and he lifts his gaze. “Close your eyes for me.”
“Why?”
