Night In A Waste Land (Hell Theory #2) - Lauren Gilley Page 0,58
saying.
She twisted around, still under his arm, so she lay on her back and could look up at him, his hand sliding to fit into the inward flare of her waist. The nightlight’s glow caught the edge of his nose, his cheekbones, the curve of his lower lip; shone faintly in his eyes. “Should have known what?”
He teeth gleamed white when he grinned. “What is it they say about it always being the quiet ones? You’re already asking about the next round?”
She punched him in the shoulder, which was like hitting a brick wall.
He laughed. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He shifted over her, hand tightening subtly at her waist, and his voice shifted into an even lower gear, smoky and full of promise. “You won’t hear me complain.”
“You say that now,” she muttered, before he kissed her.
It was unhurried this time. After coming together once, they already knew that they could, that it was good, and they could take their time, now – just as he’d promised he would, hours before.
Heat kindled in her belly, but Rose followed his lead, gladly.
He explored her mouth, alternating bold, deep strokes of his tongue with gentle teases of his lips against hers. He was playing with her, his fingers strumming lightly over her ribs like guitar strings, and he was damn good at it.
Her contentedness quickly turned to impatience, as heat and tension built in the pit of her stomach. She pressed her thighs together, and strained upward into the next kiss; caught his lower lip between her teeth.
He chuckled against her mouth and pulled back far enough to say, “Holy shit, I was kidding before, but it really is the quiet ones, huh?”
“Asshole,” she accused, without heat.
His grin was a wide, glittering slice in the shadows. He kissed her again, harder, nipping at her lip in return on the pull-back. “Here. Turn over.”
The way he said it, the way her belly clenched in response, left her wanting to comply immediately. But she said, “Why?”
“Just do it.” He patted her hip. “I know what I’m doing, trust me.”
She rolled her eyes theatrically – but turned over onto her stomach. “You don’t strike me as the creative type.”
His hands smoothed up her back, thumbs digging at the tension beneath her shoulder blades a moment. “Well, I’ll take that as a chance to prove you wrong about something.”
“That’s not a challenge: don’t get too creative.”
He chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He spent a few long minutes giving her a back massage. A good one, actually. Despite the size of his hands, his touch was precise, and he applied just the right amount of pressure. He quickly had all her muscles unlocked, until she went limp, and thought she might melt right down through the mattress, or fall asleep again.
Then his touch shifted lower. He kneaded at her lower back, where she carried tension after the end of an op; where she ached after too many hours on her feet.
“Oh,” she breathed out, as his thumbs pressed hard into the twin dimples there.
“Good?” he asked.
“Yeah – yeah, that’s good.”
“Good.” He sounded almost smug, and his thumbs pressed again, and then circled outward in expanding loops, the pressure firm.
Her muscles relaxed – but she could feel her ass and thighs flexing; feel her sex growing tender and wet. Goosebumps broke out across her skin. If he would only go a little lower…
He smoothed his palms down to cover her ass. Cupped it, squeezed it.
Pleasure speared through her, and she opened her legs wider. Fuck it, she thought, let him get as creative as he wanted to.
He didn’t go further, though. Kneaded and shaped her for long moments, alternating firm squeezes with feather-light touches, until she was squirming and grinding against the mattress, seeking friction for her throbbing clit.
“You like this,” he observed.
She was too turned on for a proper retort. Only panted, “Yes,” and ground down hard, wetter, needier.
When he gripped her hips, and urged her up onto her knees, she went gladly, arching her back automatically, seeking more.
“Christ,” he whispered. He petted her hips, her waist, and down her thighs, outside – and finally inside, teasing at her wet sex with only his fingertips when he reached it, before gliding his hands back down again.
“Oh, you’re mean,” she protested, surprised by the quiet laugh that built in her throat. She liked sex – loved it, really – but it hadn’t ever left her laughing before. Not like this.