The Lying Season (Seasons #1) - K.A. Linde Page 0,58
the bottom of my silk nightie.
I’d completely forgotten I was in this tiny, scandalous thing.
“It was cold in Wisconsin,” I reminded him.
“Ah, yes. I’m deeply regretting that we were in a snowy state if this was what I was missing.”
His hands dipped under the material, trailing along the tops of my thighs, against my creamy skin, and up to the edge of my panties. My body shuddered at the touch. Sam’s long fingers, the coarse, callous texture, the assured way he intimately knew my body. No hesitation. No questions.
“You didn’t wear clothes like this either,” I said as I began to unbutton his shirt.
He smirked. “What good would I have for a suit when I was out, getting voter registrations and knocking on doors?”
“Well, see…we’ve both changed,” I mused softly.
He tilted my chin up to look into his eyes. “We have.”
My hands stilled on his shirt. I swallowed, captivated by that gaze. “Some things haven’t.”
He grinned as he tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the wooden floor of my bedroom. “How much I want you for instance.”
I bit my lip. “Like that first day on the job.”
“You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen,” he said, returning to teasing the bottom of my dress. “In the most ridiculous heels for a Wisconsin winter. I was smitten from then on.”
“If I remember correctly, you had no objections to me wearing those heels in bed,” I said, flicking the button on his pants.
“None,” he confirmed.
Then he lifted the hem of my nightie, and when I didn’t stop him, he pulled it over my head where it landed next to his shirt. I was naked, save for my small cheeky panties. My nipples were erect, and he took in my breasts with hunger in his dark eyes.
“There’s something else I’d like to see if I remember correctly,” he said as he backed me against my bed.
“And what’s that?” I breathed.
“If you taste as good as I remember.”
My breath hitched.
His hands rand down the back of my thighs and lifted my ass onto my entirely too-tall bed. But it didn’t seem to faze him since he was a giant of a man. He just set me down and then gently pressed my back into the comforter.
He slid his fingers over my exposed skin on his way south. Taking his time to flit across my collarbone, over the map of light freckles on my chest, to the curves of my small breasts. I’d stopped being self-conscious of them a long time ago. But the way his hands cupped each of them, tweaking the nipples between his fingers and generally obsessing over them, it reminded me what it was like to be adored.
I squirmed as he slid his tongue over the nipple, sucking it into his mouth.
“Oh god,” I breathed. My eyes squeezed shut as my core tightened.
He released the first and moved onto the second. He gently bit down on the sensitive skin, making me cry out in pleasure.
“Fuck, I love the noises you make too,” he groaned.
He flicked the nipple once with his tongue, and I whimpered.
He continued lower, dragging his hands down my stomach and over my round hips. He hooked a finger under the hem of my panties and slipped them off, leaving me bare before him.
“Sam,” I pleaded.
He lifted my leg and began to kiss his way inward, starting at the knee. Each kiss supple, luxurious, and excruciating. If I’d thought we were just going to fuck and be done with this, I’d been wrong. This was more…so much more. He was remembering every inch of my body. I shivered again at the thought that he wanted to reacquaint himself with my taste.
“I like when you say my name,” he told me, nipping at my inner thigh.
I squeaked. He just moved closer and closer and closer. I thrust my wanton body toward his face. But he just chuckled, breathed against my most-sensitive skin, and then started on the other knee. I was about ready to combust, and he hadn’t even gotten to the main event.
He didn’t speed up on the left leg either. He took his time as he dragged his lips back toward my core, which was already pulsing with need. And then he was there. An inch away from me. Slowly, ever so slowly, he dragged his finger through the folds of my pussy, slicking his way through the evidence of what he’d done to me.