Work In Progress (Red Lipstick Coalition #3) - Staci Hart Page 0,91

jeans rasping the skin of my legs.

I wanted those gone, too. I wanted him as naked and willing as I was.

Logically, I knew I wasn’t ready.

But he had me ready to damn logic.

His fingers skated down the curve of my waist and hip, thumbing the black lace of my G-string. He slipped his hand under the band to grab my ass again, this time giving it that epic squeeze I’d wished for. My hips ground into him in answer or request. Both.

He moaned into my mouth, dragging his hand lower, taking my panties with him. I shimmied my hips as they disappeared, too.

And I was naked. Naked and pressed against Tommy. Naked with his hand roaming my skin. Naked with his tongue tangling with mine, with his lips hard enough to make a seam.

I held his lips in place by way of my arms around his neck, certain that if he stopped kissing me, I’d lose my nerve.

And then his fingertips trailed up my thigh.

I stilled, panting through my nose, his lips slowing against mine, cautious, cajoling as his fingers moved higher. Higher, until they slipped between my legs to cup my sex, just as he had before.

Only now, there was nothing between us but a thatch of soft hair. Such as to say, there was nothing between us at all.

His palm pressed the aching tip of me, his fingers at the threshold of my core. The longest finger curled, brushing the slick line, parting swollen lips to make way.

I gasped, the velvety feeling of his finger stroking me arresting all thought, all function.

My eyes stayed closed, but the kiss had ended, leaving me gasping at the ceiling. I could feel him watching me and found I didn’t care at all. A squeeze of his palm, a flex of his finger. It felt foreign, invasive in the most delectable way, and my core pulsed as if it wanted to draw him in.

My hips rolled and shifted, wanting the same.

His breath was labored, his fingertip testing me, teasing me, drawing lazy lines up and down, tracing the rippling flesh. It circled the dip, the place that ached so deeply for him.

I clasped his arm, just above his elbow, my nails digging into his skin, trying to hold him still so I could force that finger into me. But he couldn’t be forced.

He was, however, coerced.

The very tip of his finger slipped into my heat.

I whispered, “Yes,” to the sky, my hand sliding down his forearm and to the back of his hand. I pushed.

He pressed, sliding into me to the knuckle.

I mumbled something even I couldn’t understand, my hips rocking and shifting and certain of what to do even though I wasn’t.

Another squeeze of his palm, the slide of his finger out of me and in again. The brush of his lips against my cheekbone, jaw, ear. The buck and roll of my body. The heat of my desire cupped in his palm, at the tip of his finger.

The unexpected feeling of his tongue on my nipple, his humid breath, the gentle suck, and my lungs shot open. I curled around him, his head cradled in my arms, holding him to my breast, my orgasm building with every flick of his tongue and flex of his palm. And he knew I was close, knew with the pulse of my body, the thud of my heart, the pace of my breath, the plead on my tongue. The tingling heat crawled through me, up my body, to my neck, to my cheeks, into my lungs and my veins until it was too much, too hot, too deep, too tight.

With a flex and pulse, the heat expanded with tremoring force, ripping through me like lightning, snapping my spine off the bed. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced, nothing compared to my own hand, nothing compared to the orgasm he’d given me before. This captured me in a way I couldn’t understand, and I wondered in a fleeting burst how in the world I would survive actual sex and an orgasm by an actual cock.

But the thought left me as soon as it’d entered my mind, and I rode the orgasm back to myself on Tommy’s hand.

I finally peeled open my eyelids to find him descending for a long, punishing kiss. I melted into him, my body soft and slack. When he backed away, I didn’t let him go. He smiled down at me.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Mmhmm,” I hummed sleepily. “Never been more okayer,”