Make Me Yours (Bellamy Creek #2) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,66

she’d never given to any other man. “Thank you.”

Flattening my hands on her belly, I slid them up over her full, round breasts, her nipples tight and hard against the center of my palms. She moaned as I teased the stiff peaks with my fingers and traced a circle around her belly button with my tongue.

“Cole,” she panted, reaching down as if to pull me to my feet. “I want you.”

“You’ve got me.” I stood up just long enough to tip her backward onto the bed, then I knelt at her feet again and pushed her knees apart. “So be patient. I’ve waited for this a long time.”

“You have!” She sounded shocked as she propped herself up on her elbows.

But I wasn’t interested in arguing who’d wanted each other first or more—all I cared about was now, and now was pretty fucking good because I was licking my way up one inner thigh and then the other, stopping just short of putting my mouth where I wanted it.

Above me, I heard her whimper and try to protest, but her frustrated sounds gave way to sweet little sighs of rapture when I finally stroked up her warm, wet center with my tongue, lingering at the top, teasing her clit with slow, sensual circles. Ravenous for her, I licked and sucked and buried my tongue inside her, my hands hooked beneath her legs, holding her to me as if she might try to escape.

She tasted as sweet as she looked—champagne and honey—and I groaned in agonized delight as I devoured her. When her sounds grew more frantic and her body writhed and bucked beneath my mouth, I slipped my fingers inside her, my jealous cock aching to ease into that soft, slick heat.

Beside her legs, her hands clawed at the sheets, and I could feel the muscles in her body go tense as she contracted around my fingers. I moved my tongue a little faster and harder, pushed my fingers a little deeper, and suddenly she was crying out in relief, her orgasm pulsing from her body into mine, like ripples on the water.

As soon as I felt her body relax slightly, I jumped to my feet, and ditched the rest of my clothes, pausing only to pull my wallet from my pants pocket. She lifted herself up onto her elbows and watched as I took out the condom and tore the wrapper open.

“Am I dreaming?” she asked breathlessly, scooting up toward the headboard.

“Want me to pinch you?” I rolled the condom on and stretched out above her.

“Yes, please.” She opened her legs for me and put her hands on my chest. “I want you to do everything to me.”

I braced myself over her and eased into her body slowly, even though my heart raced ahead and my instinct was to chase it. Below me, I watched Cheyenne’s face change, her eyes closing as she took me in, heard her breathing become more labored as she struggled to relax and get used to my size.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes opening again. She moved her hands over my shoulders and down my back. “I want to savor every single moment, even if it hurts.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said, my voice raw with need, my body tense with bound energy, a lion caged. “I want to make you feel good.”

“Cole.” She lifted her head and kissed my throat, my collarbone, my jaw. Her hands slid down over my ass and pulled me in deeper. “Give me everything. I’ve waited so long.”

At her invitation, I began to move, slowly at first, deep, long strokes that made her arch and gasp and dig her fingernails into my skin. I wanted to be patient for her—I wanted to be gentle and tender and sweet—she’d waited for this, dreamed about this, and I wanted to be the man in her dreams who catered to her every whim, anticipated her every need, gave her everything she wanted. But instead I found myself struggling to hold onto control—she was so beautiful, so wet and warm and soft, and it felt so fucking good to be inside her, to give in to the temptation I’d fought for so damn long.

And she didn’t help—she urged me on with her moans and sighs, with her hands that gripped and pulled, with her kisses that teased and tantalized, with her honey-and-champagne flavor still on my tongue. She met every thrust of mine with her own, our