Page 71 of Love Notes & Lifelines
The room is silent, save for her erratic breathing. I crave the sound—every place I touch her causes a new beat, a new moan, a new reflex.
I stop when I reach her pubic bone and stare up her body with every dirty thought of what I could do to her racing through my mind. Her skin is so soft beneath my fingertips that I can’t stop touching her—tracing small circles over her exposed body.
She lifts her head in exasperation, but when she sees my expression, her endless pools of amber fill with white-hot lust. I’m a master at hiding—at wearing an impenetrable mask—but the way she breaks through my exterior, as if she can discern all my secrets simply by being here, makes something dark and filthy beat against my chest. It’s almost as though her desires and fears are inexplicably tied to mine so every push and pull we attempt lights the wick of our flame.
My body is ready to burst with desire so visceral it could have its own zip code.
“Put this under your head,” I demand, tossing her a throw pillow. “Eyes on me.”
She shudders, and her mewling response cascades down my body until my balls throb. That sexy mouth plays a soundtrack I want to memorize.
I learn her body by her sounds of approval as I nip, lick, and suck, but there doesn’t seem to be a rule book for little Miss Stella Jane. With her, I just want it all—her sounds, her cries, her bodily reactions. I want to see how every inch of her responds to every piece of me, and I want to know how far I can take her.
“Have you ever watched a man lick you to orgasm?” My voice is husky and low, the only part of this interaction I’m in control of.
“No,” she says, and it’s too quiet. This is office Stella who was hiding her voice from me, and I hate it.
I glide my hands up and down her thighs. “Don’t do that. I want to hear you. I want to hear and feel and experience every piece of you that’s real, and nothing else.”
Her eyes shine in the glow of the lone lamp behind me. Her chest expands with a deep breath, causing her tits to fall to her sides, so I reach up with both hands and press them together. Stella’s hands land in my hair, her nails scratching lightly, and with each pass of her finger, a fissure of tension is set free.
“Fuck, Stella. Your hands on me—I’ve wanted that for so damn long.”
She arches her back and presses her tits into my palms. They’re the perfect size. Pressing them together leaves a gap just big enough for my cock, and the image of her licking the tip while I fuck them makes my erection bounce against her thigh.
“Beck, please.” Damn. She’s not begging, but she’s not demanding either. She’s Goldilocks—fucking perfect.
The ocean is rough tonight. It’s the only sound in the house besides my heavy breathing and the aroused noises Stella releases.
“Please what? Please fuck you with my tongue? Please make you squirt and ruin the sofa? Be very specific in what you ask for, baby, because I aim to please.”
“Please…with your tongue.” It comes out in the rush of an orchestra hitting the crescendo and I thank my lucky fucking stars for this reprieve she’s offering.
My first taste of her sends a firestorm of electric currents coursing through my veins. She tastes as sweet as she smells, like fucking apples, so I settle in with one foot on the floor and the other folded beneath me as I part her with my thumbs. I want to invade—I want to own every inch of her body.
Her hands fist in my hair, dragging me closer, and I grin against her damp flesh, then I enter her with one long finger. She’s so damn tight, and wet, and so perfect my eyes roll to the back of my head when her walls pulse against the single digit.
When my cock finally enters her, it might destroy me.
She rocks her hips, using my chin and nose for friction. The wet slurping sounds of her pussy cause precum to leak from my slit—she wants this as much as I do. I stiffen my tongue and stretch it side to side until I find her protruding clit begging for attention.
Stella freezes when I clasp it between my teeth. I flick over it relentlessly with my tongue. Perspiration dots her skin, filling the room with our scent, and the animal in me roars. I want to lick every goddamn inch of her body.
“Beck. Beck. Please. I—I’m not—I can’t.”
But she can, her body tells me so. She twists and bucks and her thighs tremble. She’s close. This is the Stella who cries out in pleasure and doesn’t care who hears her. This is the Stella who unapologetically takes up space, and I treasure this side of her as much as her caring and giving nature. She’s too damn perfect.
I replace my tongue with the fingers of my free hand so I can memorize her face when she comes. A beastly rumble fills my chest because I already know the motion she prefers. Her body is so easy to read if you’re paying attention.
And the thing that scares me is that I am paying attention. Every fucking detail of her shines in high resolution as if the story of Stella is being broadcast in technicolor for my eyes only.
Curling my finger inside her, I make a come hither motion against her spongy walls and groan when she clenches down on me. She’s already dripping, but I want more—I need more.
Her head drops to the sofa when she pulls the pillow from beneath her and covers her face with it.
Not happening, sweetheart.
I move up her body, rip the pillow away, and find her fighting to keep her startled eyes open. They flutter in time with my ministrations and my inner beast roars knowing I hold her key.
