Page 44 of Craving

Her heart gave a powerful thump. She looked down at her paint-splattered clothing. “I don’t think I look so hot right now.”

Marlon’s lips kicked. “I beg to differ.” His thumb made a slow sweep over her cheekbone, and a deep, yawning hunger opened in the pit of Camilla’s stomach.

The past two weeks had created an insistent yearning for Marlon that never really went away. After her meeting with Frankie on Friday, spending the weekend with Marlon had been like a balm for her soul. She felt safe here. Cherished.

Now, feeling the warmth of his body against hers, craving came back with a vengeance. Body taut as she pressed it against his, she felt like she could give in to any temptation, indulge in every carnal desire.

She’d survived the problems at the bakery, and come Monday, she’d be back there, trying to come up with the money Frankie was extorting. Her life was one problem after another, and she would deal with them. But…didn’t she deserve a bit of affection? Couldn’t she give in to temptation? Why was she resisting this?

“You’re trembling,” Marlon said in a soft, low rumble.

She huffed, staring at the beard that hugged his jaw. She brought her fingers up to trace the line of it on his cheek all the way down to his lips. The only thing left to say was the truth: “I want you so badly I can’t think straight.”

The sound that came from Marlon’s throat sounded like it was ripped from him. He pulled her closer with the arm around her back while he slid his other to hold the back of her neck. Then he kissed her, deep and long and thorough, until she whimpered against him.

His hand slid down her spine and gripped her butt. He squeezed, tracing the middle seam of her jeans up and down the cleft of her ass until she panted against his lips, mindless with lust. Her fingers had curled into his shirt at some point, and her knee was thrown over both of his spread legs.

Lifting Camilla with one strong arm, Marlon deposited her on his lap so she straddled him. His hands roamed over her body, running over her hips, her waist, her breasts. She was wearing too many clothes. They both were.

Clawing at his top, she pulled it off over his head and then let her hands trace the solid lines of his chest. He had coarse, dark chest hair and a thick pack of muscles. His abdomen was dense and solid, shifting beneath his skin as he reached to tear her shirt off in return.

When he’d removed her top, his hands slid up to trace the line of her bra where it met the soft flesh of her breasts. The bra was nothing special: plain and black, designed to be worn under T-shirts. But Marlon looked at it like it had been made to tempt him.

“You have the most beautiful tits I’ve ever seen.” He grabbed them both and buried his face in her cleavage.

Camilla laughed, breathless, heat arrowing down to her core. She twisted her fingers into his hair and whimpered when he drew his tongue over her breast then flicked the clasp on the back of her bra to rip it off her body. He tossed it aside and lavished attention on her pebbled, oversensitive nipples.

A part of her thought she should stop this. Maybe she was just feeling lonely and stressed, and Marlon had offered her a bed and a shoulder to lean on. She should back off, take stock, be rational.

But being rational was hard when a big beast of a man had her breast in his mouth, sucking and nipping and tonguing like he never wanted to come up for air. It was hard when her other nipple was pinched and rolled between his fingers. Her body had turned molten under his attentions, and Camilla was powerless to resist.

“That feels so good,” she panted, arching her back to give him full access. His hands cupped both her breasts while he rubbed his cheek against her skin, rough beard abrading her sensitive flesh. He teased both nipples at once. She panted, each sensation winching her lust to a tighter knot in the pit of her stomach.

He licked her, tasted her, groaned against her. His hands were warm and rough as they shaped her breasts, worshipping. She loved being touched like this. She loved giving herself over to him, letting go. A rough squeeze sent a fresh wave of heat tumbling through Camilla’s veins.

Two weeks of lust compounded and compacted within her. She held his head to her breast and ground her hips against him. She gasped. Lost herself. Found him.

Then, as if he were as overcome as she was, Marlon bit the underside of Camilla’s right breast while he pinched her left nipple, a low groan slipping through his lips—and Camilla came. She came from him only touching her breasts, an orgasm that blazed bright and fast, leaving her wanting more.

Hands still shaping her, Marlon glanced up, half-dazed, half-thunderstruck. “Did you…?”

She nodded, blinking rapidly. “I think so. Yes.”

He groaned, leaning his head on the back of the sofa as his eyes drifted shut. “I need a second.” His voice sounded like it was full of gravel. It made Camilla feel like she was burning up to hear it.

Grasping at any wisp of lucidity, Camilla put her hands on the back cushions of the couch and said, “We haven’t even had this couch for three hours and we’re turning it into a sex couch.”

Through slitted eyes, Marlon watched her—and grinned. “We haven’t had sex yet.”

“What do you call this, then?”

His hands slid up her thighs and rested on her hips. A big boulder shoulder lifted in a casual shrug. “A warm-up.”

Camilla snorted, but she didn’t have time to respond because Marlon was flipping her onto her back and flicking open the button of her jeans.

“We’re breaking our own rules,” Camilla protested, but she wiggled to help him tug her jeans down her legs. Her hands were frantic, her heart hammering. She lay on the couch in nothing but a pair of plain cotton undies, and she’d never felt sexier. The curves that sometimes made her self-conscious felt beautiful beneath Marlon’s gaze.

Marlon ran his hand up her thigh and touched the edge of her underwear. “We haven’t broken anything yet.”

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