Hold Me Close - Talia Hibbert Page 0,124

As if he was learning her.

So she kissed him back, hot and hard enough to make her feelings clear. Her reward was the deep, heady groan that rumbled through his chest—and the thick curve of his erection against her side. She’d felt that hardness before, when he forgot to keep his hips canted away from hers. Now, with their bodies intertwined and nothing between them, there was no hiding it. And when she arched into the sweet pressure of his cock, Samir deepened the kiss, his hand snaking up her body, under her T-shirt.

He found her tits, heavy and unconfined, giving one a barely-there squeeze. She moaned in frustration as his mouth left hers. “Perfect,” he murmured. “So perfect.” His thumb circled her nipple until her breaths came fast and laboured. “Does it hurt, love?” he asked. But his heavy-lidded gaze was dark and knowing, a smile teasing his full lips. “You’re so sensitive. Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” she gasped, squirming against him. She needed to arch into his touch, needed to thrust herself back so his cock would rub against her just right—and fuck, she couldn’t do both, and she felt so hot and wet between her legs—

He dragged up her T-shirt completely, without warning, shocking a gasp out of her. “Maybe if I kiss it better,” he said, as he exposed her bare breasts to the air. “Would you like that? Oh, fuck, Laura, you’re so lovely.”

She held her breath as his face slackened, as the teasing glint left his eye and his lips parted. He stared down at her swollen, stretch-marked belly as if it were dessert. His gaze settled on her tender, reddened breasts, the stretch-marks even brighter than they were on her stomach—and his cheeks flushed darker, his teeth sinking into his lower lip.

“Jesus,” he groaned. “God. You are so fucking sexy.”

She’d expected him to say something sweet and complimentary because he was that kind of man. She’d expected to thank him with a blush while believing not a single word of it.

He was destroying her expectations.

His words sent heat tearing through her, less a flush of embarrassment and more a raging forest fire of answering desire. Because he most definitely desired her. She believed it beyond the feel of his hardness or the words on his lips. She believed it because his hands were shaking, and because he bent his head over her chest with a noise that sounded like a growl, and because he sucked her nipple into his mouth almost hungrily, his hips grinding against her in time with every tight pull.

“Oh my God Samir no wait yes keep—” Laura’s words spilled out without permission or restraint or sense, and she couldn’t have stopped herself if she’d tried. Her hands seemed to have a mind of their own, running over his bare skin, tracing the coarse path of his chest hair all the way down, and over his abs, and then to his waistband.

And she didn’t stop there. She felt distantly scandalised but achingly, desperately thirsty as she shoved his pyjama bottoms down. Not all the way down—that required sensible, conscious thought about how clothes were supposed to be treated. No; Laura shoved them down to mid-thigh before fisting his cock.

He grunted, his face buried against her breasts as his hips jerked, that thick, hot dick thrusting into her palm. He felt so unbelievable, hard and way too real, and when she ran her thumb over the silken head it came away slick with pre-come. She could feel her pulse pounding through her clit, and her thighs were slippery with her own wetness, and she had this unbelievably strong urge to spread her legs wide and guide him inside her.

She hadn’t felt that urge in years. Fucking years.

“Samir,” she gasped. Her breath hitched as his hand found her arse, kneading greedily, almost as if he wanted just as much as she did.

He looked up, his mouth lush and swollen, leaving her breast cool and tingling. “Tell me. What do you need?”

“I…” She blushed, suddenly realising that she hadn’t said anything like this in forever. She didn’t know how to say it anymore. But then she remembered a night on the beach fifteen years ago, and she found her courage as she borrowed the words of her younger self. “I think we should do that thing.”

She knew he remembered because a grin cut through the arousal on his face, and he said, just like he had back then: “That thing?”

“You know,”