Page 786 of Hell Hath No Fury
Her back arches as she protests the sudden onslaught of pleasure. A strangled cry is muffled as she bites down on her lower lip. Her hips rock and I know she’s close.
“Come on my hand like I’ve been dreaming about all fucking day,” I command, a hand on her lower stomach pinning her hip down, holding her in place and intensifying the quickened strokes.
She comes almost instantly, like she was waiting for permission.
I don’t pull away at first, I keep up the pressure on her clit until she remembers how to breathe and looks back at me with those pale blue eyes full of lust.
Then I climb between her legs, line up my cock, and fuck her into her sofa until she’s clinging to me, out of breath and completely sated.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bennet
“I could see a fireplace right there,” I comment as I run my fingers up and down Bree’s bare shoulder.
She turns slightly in my arms from where she is on the sofa and her tired expression brightens. “Before I even bought this house I thought that. I’ve always wanted one.”
“I could build you one,” I offer and it dawns on me that I would stop the world tomorrow to build her whatever she wanted.
Her doe eyes peer up at me and she gives me the sweetest simper. “I may have to make a handyman call for that one of these days then,” she half jokes although there’s nothing about her gaze that holds humor.
Choosing to let it be, I turn my attention back to the show neither of us are watching. This late at night, with the empty takeout boxes still on the table, both of us are doing what we’ve been doing: pretending not to be dog tired just so we can stay up a little longer together.
Her back to my front, cuddled up and lying down on the sofa.
I kiss her shoulder and smirk when she shivers like I knew she would. Whispering, I tell her, “I’ve got to get going, baby.”
She hums in protest with a pout, but pushes away the small throw blanket like she’s going to get up.
“Where’s your wrench?” she asks me before holding back a yawn. I see it, though. She adds before I can answer, “I’m going to go break something.”
A rough chuckle leaves me and her face lights up with that gorgeous smile.
“That smirk of yours is wicked,” I tell her and she blushes. I fucking love what I do to her … and what she does to me.
The days are bleeding together and if there’s one thing I’d like to change, it’s this part right here. The part where I give her a goodnight kiss and leave.
There’s not a part of me that doesn’t want to lay her to sleep in bed, like her man should.
Like I should.
* * *
Aubrey
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone in my bed overnight. Not a moment has existed where I’ve thought:I’d like to share and I definitely won’t regret not being able to cocoon myself in my comforter or spawl out.But every night he leaves, there’s an emptiness I can’t shake.
When I lie down, I imagine what it would be like to share the bed with him and sleep soundly in his arms. My eyes close as the front door shuts and that’s all I see: the image of the two of us, sleeping together. Actually sleeping.
Peeking out of the peephole, I watch him take his time walking to his car. He peers over his shoulder, looking back with his keys in his hand and I know he can’t see me, but I wish he could.
If he could, I think he’d ask if I want him to stay.
He lingers more and more each time he leaves and the invitation is on the tip of my tongue. Taking a step back, I let outa deep breath and cross my arms over my chest. I know how it will happen, though.
He stays a night, maybe a couple in a row.
And then either we’re sick of each other and need space, or it’s a full-blown “come move in with me” situation.
