Page 35 of Reverb

We were face to face now, eye to eye. I was sitting on his hard thighs, feeling their heat beneath the denim of his jeans. He swallowed, and I watched his throat work. I lifted my arms, a wordless invitation, and he leaned in, reaching around to unclasp my bra at my back. It slid off and I dropped it.

I was completely naked on his lap. I felt vulnerable and incredibly powerful at the same time, and I liked it. I wiggled my hips, adjusting to get more comfortable, and Stone winced, making a pained sound. I realized he was hard, and the knowledge thrilled me.

It was my turn to grasp the hem of his shirt and tug. He lifted his arms, letting me strip it off him. He was glorious under there, an expanse of perfect male skin marked with whorls of unapologetic dark hair, his pecs solid, his shoulders broad. He wasn’t skin and bones, this man. He was thick and strong. I put my hands on him, fascinated, my palms just below his collarbones, where I could feel his chest rise and fall with his breath.

“This is a terrible idea,” I said again, as my fingertips pressed harder into his skin.

“The worst,” Stone repeated, and his big arms came around me, pulling me in close as he kissed me.

It was a rush, kissing him this time. He was everywhere—the rough fabric between my legs, his powerful arms, his hands on my skin. He kissed me deeply and I was ready for it, ready for him, as if we’d done this so many times. Why hadn’t we done this? I couldn’t remember. I felt weightless.

He kissed me for a long time, and a hand smoothed down my back and over my ass, cupping me gently, that possessive gesture he’d done before. It did crazy things to my insides. My skin was oversensitive and my pulse was racing. I’d never done anything like this, but here I was. I’d stripped naked and thrown myself into this man’s lap in my parents’ attic, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that, bad idea or not, I would never regret it.

Stone broke the kiss, and his hand trailed over my hip, over my thigh to brush between my legs while his other arm banded around my back, holding me steady.

“I’m done waiting,” he said in my ear as his fingertips rested against my tender skin. “Give me this, Sienna. Right now.”

It was spoken as a command, but his hand didn’t move. It wouldn’t, I knew, unless I gave him permission. I answered him by rising a little on my knees, then pressing down—a wordless, dirty invitation.

He made a pained sound against the skin of my neck, and his fingers breached me, sliding over me, though he still went slow. There would be no fumbling with Stone, no clumsy probing. Oh, no. For the first time in my life, I was in the hands of a master, a man who could give me any sensation he wanted with the brush of a fingertip in just the right place, a man who could make this go as fast or as slow as he pleased. He was a genius with his hands—I’d seen it a hundred times when he played onstage. Now my body was going to experience it.

“Let go,” he said as he got into a rhythm that made my brain turn into nothing but white noise. “I want to see it.”

So I did.

I would have come fast, but he wouldn’t let me. He got me close, then drew me back. Again, then again. The third time, when my nails were digging into his shoulders and I had a sheen of sweat on my skin, he finally sent me over the edge. I cried out so loudly it echoed through the empty house. If anyone had been home, they would have no illusions about exactly what Stone was doing to me up here.

I slumped forward, resting my cheek helplessly against his shoulder. His skin smelled good. My god, what was happening to me?

Stone’s arm left my back and he moved a thumb over my temple, gently brushing my damp hair from my face. I felt that touch everywhere in my body. “I’m not gonna fuck you,” he said, his voice thick.

“Okay,” I said because I had no willpower. Then I realized what he’d said. “Why not?”

“Lots of reasons.” His thumb brushed my temple again, and I wanted him to do that over and over, forever. “I don’t have a condom. But even if I did, I wouldn’t do it. You want me to fuck you, I will. But today isn’t that day.”

“Okay,” I said again, because he’d made me certifiably stupid. But that touch of his fingertips…it was doing something to me. Shifting everything around inside me. I wasn’t done yet.

I lifted my cheek and looked at him. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable. I trailed my hands down over his chest, his stomach, watching a muscle in his jaw twitch and listening to his breath grow harsh.

I pressed a palm over the crotch of his jeans and felt his body jump beneath me, his muscles tense. “Fuck, woman,” he cursed.

I was turned on all over again. I had him exactly where I wanted him, at least for the moment. I rubbed my palm up and down, feeling the shape of him in there. Then I unbuckled his belt, undid his jeans, and rubbed him through the fabric of his boxer briefs.

Stone made a sound like agony and leaned back on the sofa, his chin tilted up. He rubbed both hands over his face. “Finish it or stop,” he said. “Pick one.”

My own breathing was getting short, my pulse picking up again. “Which one do you want?” I asked him.

“Pick one, Sienna,” he said again, a note of desperation in his voice.

I remembered that this wasn’t a whim, an impulse to fool around for him. He’d wanted this—wanted me—for weeks. Instead of intimidating me, the thought made me hot all over again.

“I pick the first option,” I said. I got off his lap, stood between his legs, and lowered to my knees.

I’d completely robbed him of speech. He said nothing as I tugged his jeans and boxers partway down his thighs, then leaned over and took him in my mouth. He cursed once, pressing his hips up, and then he had no more words.

I explored him, learning his shape. He tasted good. This wasn’t an act I did very often—men liked it, so when I was dating someone, I tried to be obliging. But it wasn’t something I’d ever been excited to do. Until now.

I liked every part of this with Stone. The taste and feel of him, the heat of him, and most of all, his reaction. I had Stone completely helpless, capable of nothing but lust and want. Every small thing I did with my lips, my tongue, made him crazy. I might be able to draw it out, like he’d done for me, but I didn’t want to. I wanted him to lose control.

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