Page 30 of Falling for Carla

I turned my head. and captured her mouth with mine. In her surprise, she drew back. I grabbed her face and kept her still so I could part her lips and slide my tongue in her mouth, scorching us both with a kiss that rocked her back until she grabbed on to me and held on for dear life.

CHAPTER 22

CARLA

I was going to kiss him on the cheek, to show that I liked him, and I would respect his boundaries here. I was staying with him, he was saving my life, and I wasn’t going to keep mentioning the obvious sexual attraction between us when he wanted to pretend it didn’t exist for ethical reasons of his own. Reasons that I thought were absolute rubbish, but I liked him too well to be pushy about it. It was meant to be a soft, very quick kiss on the cheek to show him that—both affection and respect.

Turned out my intentions didn’t matter, and they burned up to ashes in about two seconds.

Drake turned his head and kissed my lips. I was surprised, after all his resistance to being anything to me other than a trustworthy and respectful friend in my time of need. But I sure as hell wasn’t disappointed. The first tentative brush of his lips against mine was searing, and I started to pull away. It was because I was startled and his kiss on my lips was unexpected, not because I didn’t want it. The sheer physical impact of his mouth on mine had left me reeling.

His big hands held my face as he worked my lips open. The first hot thrust of his tongue into my mouth was magnificent. I felt the shocking intimacy of it, his tongue entering my body, penetrating me. I opened my mouth wider to give him more access as my tongue stroked his, an urgent kiss that left us breathless, exploring and tasting for the first time. I held on to his big arms, my fingers splayed on his biceps that were so thick I couldn’t grip them, could not hope to get my hands around them at all.

It wasn’t a kiss good night, a wistful romantic kiss. It was a kiss that left no questions unanswered, the way a man claims a woman. I was his.

I kissed him back with all the passion I felt, and when he pulled me closer, flush against his chest and bent my head back over his arm to plunder my mouth even more deeply, I gave him all of it. Not only the frustration and fierce attraction, but the fear and grief of all that had happened today, and the joy of watching baseball with him and bantering in front of the TV and the resignation and regret when I told him I’d quit flirting with him. My tongue entered his mouth and I let him feel all of that through my kiss. He held me and stroked my back and tangled his fingers in my hair. When had he taken down my hair? It lay in a tangled mass down my back, over his questing fingers. A soft growl in his throat told me he liked the way I kissed as much as I liked his.

We didn’t need to say a single word. Our bodies were doing the talking at last.

That kiss went on so long that the tips of my fingers tingled from it, and the swoop of desire in my belly grew to a needy knot of want between my thighs. He could ‘ve had me against the wall or right there on the floor if he wanted, and I would never have objected. My body heated and yearned to open for him. I twisted in his grip, my breasts rubbing against the hard, muscular wall of his chest to let him know I wanted more. I did want more. Never mind the fact that this kiss by itself was hotter than anything I’d ever experienced in my life. That being kissed by Drake Sheffield was better than any sex I’d ever had.

Drake broke the kiss. It was probably for the best because I had stopped even trying to get a breath. I just sank into the full body bliss of being kissed by him. I expected him to back away, face contorted with regret. Instead, he put an arm around me, tucked me against his side and kissed the top of my head, guiding me down the hall to his room instead of mine. The joy that bubbled in my chest was indescribable. He wasn’t going to apologize for kissing me and tell me to lock myself in my room—he was going to take me to his bed. Every inch of my skin seemed to tingle with anticipation of that.

He brought me into his master bedroom, every bit of it masculine from the leather headboard and chair to the huge king-sized bed that waited for us. He turned on the lights and I thought for a moment how I must look, my hair tangled and messy, my face flushed from being so thoroughly kissed.

“So beautiful,” he said, and scooped me up in his arms. I held on as he carried me to the bed. It was totally unnecessary and romantic and made me feel cherished, protected. Like he was giving me himself, his body not just to guard me but to pleasure me as well. I felt like my heart cracked open then, and I hugged him fiercely, unable to hold back the rush of affection and gratitude that rode the waves of our sexual attraction.

I might have called it lust earlier, but this was more than lust. It was enough lust to power an entire city if it could be converted to electricity. It was a deeper need for him, an affection I was afraid to consider. I couldn’t fall for him. It would be so easy and so awful all at once. His reasons for not flirting or hooking up with me had been annoyingly correct—it could cost him his job, could cost me my degree, and it could cost me my heart as well.

The stakes with Drake Sheffield were too high. They were all or nothing. And without a moment’s hesitation, I was all in. Rolling the dice and risking it all.

Whatever happened after tonight was future-me’s problem. In this moment, right now, Drake was everything I wanted, and I wasn’t about to hesitate.

Drake was big all over, his arms and hands, his height, his build. The broad chest and shoulders that loomed above me as he held himself up on his forearms and ate at my lips with his mouth. He worked me over with delicious nibbles and licks at my lips, teasing and playful, belying the intensity of his desire, the corded strength I felt him restraining as his fingers toyed in the curls that fanned out around my face. I loved the way our legs were tangled up together, the feel of one long thigh parting my knees, breaching me. He broke the kiss, and I made a sound of protest. A luscious shudder roamed over my body as he rolled onto his side, head propped on his hand, and looked at me in a sweeping, hungry gaze.

One big hand stroked my face and neck, stole down to my collarbone and traced the line of it tenderly, making me shiver with want. He kissed my forehead and my eyelids, my cheekbone. He was cherishing every curve of my face, making me feel pampered and desirable. I reveled in it, but I couldn’t keep my eyes closed. I loved watching him, the heat in his eyes as he looked me over.

“Do you like this shirt a lot?” he said, his voice low and rumbly, his fingers in the neckline of my t-shirt.

“Yeah, why?”

“I’ll get you a new one,” he said.

With that, all the playful teasing and tenderness burned away. He gripped my t-shirt and ripped it open, tearing it straight down the front. I laughed, carried away with excitement and passion. I’d never been with a man who wanted me so much he tore off my clothes. Drake’s hand slid inside the ripped fabric and his thumb stroked my rib cage. His mouth went straight to my nipple that was already tight and straining against my bra. The heat of his mouth soothed and inflamed me at once, as he sucked my nipple deep in his mouth and drew on it, making me buck with the rolls of pleasure that tumbled through me, down my belly and between my legs with every suck. I grabbed his hair with one hand and held him there, arching my back to give him more. My leg kicked out and then wrapped around his hips, the galvanic spikes of ecstasy firing up all through my body.

He lifted his head and grinned at me, pleased with himself. Then he peeled my torn shirt off of me and ran his hands up my bare arms. His mouth went to mine as he reached behind and unclasped my bra. His practiced ease at unhooking it told me that he was experienced, that he knew exactly what he was doing. I was in good hands, hands that would give me the kind of pleasure I never found in the arms of a man before. My other lovers had failed to satisfy me, left me wanting. I knew Drake Sheffield would never leave me wanting. He’d make me come my brains out and leave me exhausted, spent, after so many orgasms I would lose count. His mouth and hands told me that, full of that wicked promise.

He kissed my breasts again, then kissed his way down my stomach. Just above my mound he planted a hot kiss and I moaned, my sex clenching, empty and needy. He was going to drive me insane. I had no idea how I’d survive this.

With a swift fluid motion, he levered off of me and stripped away my leggings and panties. I was bare underneath him in his bed. It felt so good, so exciting and wild and lovely all at once. I never wanted to leave. I wanted to live in this exact moment for the rest of my life, all edgy desire and arousal, ready to tip over into the real intensity of letting Drake have his way with me.

Without further hesitation, he buried his face between my legs, kissing, lapping, licking my sensitive, wet pussy. He showered attention on my clit and worked first one finger and then another into my tight, slippery passage. I cried out with pleasure instantly when he pushed his fingers inside me, sliding against a place that made pleasure roll hot and fast through my primed body. I bore down on his fingers and rocked my hips against them as his thumb worked my clit and he kissed the inside of my thigh. I came and came, crying his name hoarsely.

It was sudden and powerful, and I rode his hand like it was the only orgasm I’d ever get in my life. It was over too quickly, and I felt a film of sweat all along my bare skin.

As I squirmed away from him, still shivering from the orgasm I’d had, his fingers followed me, reaching for me, trying to grip my mound, press his fingers back in me. I shook my head, so sensitive and reeling still from the climax he had given me. But he persisted, setting the heel of his palm to my clit and pressing, rubbing, as his fingers parted my lips and dove in, a fingering like I’d never had before leaving me panting and spent, coming again almost immediately.

My head tossed on the pillow, helpless. He wanted me to come, so I came. There was no arguing with him, no begging for mercy. This was Drake and he knew my body better than I knew it myself. When I was finished coming all over his hand, I giggled nervously and said something about how I was lucky. He waved me away. I knew he didn’t want to hear me praise him, his skill and his prowess as a lover, but he deserved to know. I whispered to him that no one had ever done that to me before.

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