Work In Progress (Red Lipstick Coalition #3) - Staci Hart Page 0,115
them.
Never had I seen anything so beautiful.
Never would I witness something so real as the pale visage of my wife, waiting for me.
Her arms opened, and I filled them.
My skin was hot to the touch, flaming against hers as we kissed. The heat came from within, from deep in my chest, spreading through my veins, across my skin, reaching for her.
Our bodies locked together, a twist of limbs, scissored and shifting. Hips rolling. Hands searching. Mouths hot and open, lips a seam. And in that moment, I didn’t want to go slow. I didn’t want anything but to have her.
My hand skated down her body, to her ass, squeezing hard, opening her up. I swallowed her moan, my hand searching for her heat, fingertips skimming the threshold of her body, rewarding the shift of her hips with the slip of my finger into her body.
For weeks, we’d done this very thing, but nothing about this felt like before. Not the way she moved, the intent behind every flex of her hips, in the reach of her tongue, in the hunger in her fingertips as she trailed them down my chest. And I could feel that unbridled hunger in me, the finger buried in her telegraphing every sensation to my cock in vivid detail.
I’d held back all this time, conceding to take what she’d offered and nothing more. Even now, her body was an offering, one I would pay the veneration it deserved.
The space where she held me so tightly pulsed around my finger, drawing me deeper. Lazy circles of my thumb, tracing the peak of her sex, the rhythm of my hand matching the rhythm of her hips until she writhed under me. A gorgeous flush climbed her chest, her neck, the curves of her cheeks, her eyes pinned shut and sheets fisted in her hands.
“Not yet,” I said, my voice fiery coals.
I released her. Brought my lips to the tight tip of one breast, teasing the peak until it was hard and reaching.
She mewled, her hands slipping into my hair, cradling me to her, her hips wild, seeking pressure, contact. Seeking me.
Down her body I kissed, licking a trail, sucking a path across her breasts, beyond the gentle swell of her stomach, to the place where her thighs met. Those thighs, milky white, velvety soft, the taste of her skin on my tongue. My eyes were barely open as my hands spread her legs to expose the rippling flesh, pink and swollen, waiting and ready.
My breath, hot on her core. My lips, wet and parted. Her body, there for my taking.
My lips descended, the scent of her triggering something deep and elemental in me. A brush of my tongue first, a velvety caress of a feather, and she gasped, the flinch of her thighs flexing my hips without intent. And my lips closed over the slick sweetness of her, latched to her body, drew her into my mouth with a gentle suck and sweep of my tongue.
A soft moan from her lips, her thighs drawing wider in her pleasure as the flat of my tongue dragged the length of her, circled around the swollen flesh, traced every valley, every peak, taking my time, taking every precious moment I wanted, content exactly where I was.
My index finger took the place of my tongue, stroking her, spreading her. I slipped that finger into her heat, felt the pulse of her body as I swept my tongue against the heart of her sex. Curled to find the spot inside her that wasn’t quite as silken as the rest, circled my fingertip against it.
Her hands gripped my hair like reins, her hips shifting in the rhythm she wanted—needed—and I matched her pace. The barrier of her body made way easily as a second finger joined the first, something I’d done so many times before, though nothing compared to what I was about to do. But I brushed the thought aside, turning the full power of my attention on the place where my lips lie, where my fingers reached, where her body squeezed and held. I listened to the sound of her heavy breath, of her muttered pleas.
I hummed my desire, traced the peak of her, teased it hotter until she burned. And with a flex that consumed her, toes to thighs to core to lungs, she came with a cry, with a shuddering pulse that galloped through her, that pulled me into her deeper, deeper with every surge.