“Goats’ milk soap,” she breathed. “It’s my one descent into unadulterated decadence. Have to drive to the Dandenongs to buy it. Costs a mint.”
This was met with silence.
“It’s lush. You should try it.”
“Don’t worry. I am.” With that his tongue lapped the rise of her collarbone, sending shivers so hard and fast through her body her knees gave way.
Luckily Nate was there to slide his knee between hers, pinning her to the wall.
“I got you,” he said, and proceeded to show her just how by lifting both arms above her head and dragging her sweater off in one swift move, leaving her in a pink bikini top and a wave of goosebumps which Nate proceeded to kiss until each and every one melted away.
“Your grand renovation include a pool?” he said, his thumbs running along the underside of her bikini top.
“Laundry day,” she said, her voice croaky as a whole new wave of goosebumps followed his touch. This time he let them be, till she squirmed at the pleasure and the pain.
His hands learnt her curves, what little there was of them, but the hitch in his breath, the reverence of his touch made her feel like a pin-up. The pulse of desire between her legs now so insistent it was a wonder he couldn’t hear it.
And then his head dipped to kiss the swell of her breasts. When his teeth grazed her nipple through her bikini top, and then he sucked it into his mouth, leaving the fabric moist in the fiery air, her hands moved to his head, desperate to stop the ache, desperate for more.
Then he was down on his knees, kissing each of her ribs, dipping his tongue into her navel, rolling her tights down her legs, scraping his teeth over a hipbone, hitting every sweet spot and a few more she hadn’t even known she had.
As he came back up his hands slid over the backs of her legs, behind her trembling knees, caressing her weakening thighs, grabbing her ass and pressing her against him—which was when she came to from the drenching red haze of desire enough to realise he was naked too. And ready. So ready.
She ran a hand over his perfect backside, glorying in the heat of him, the hardness, the pure and utter masculinity. She wondered how she’d ever thought him cool, untouchable. This was as real as it got.
He lifted her knee to wrap it about his hip. The heft of him was nudging at her core. She bucked at the sensation, her body pressing back, moving with him of its own accord, desperate to bring all this swirling need to completion.
She jumped into his arms, trusting him not to let her fall.
His eyes found hers—so hot, so dark, so intense—as if awaiting her final yes. She kissed him—open-mouthed acquiescence.
With his hands on her backside and a groan at her mouth, he pressed into her achingly gently, with more restraint than she could have managed. When she sighed, and pressed back, he finally drove into her, deep, full, a millimetre from too much. Then deeper again, till she had to pull away from his kiss to catch even the tiniest breath.
She closed her eyes, blind to all but the thick, rich, heady sensation pummelling her every which-way. It was too much. It was impossible. It was everything. And all too soon every skerrick of feeling contracted to a single point where her whole world stilled, throbbed, pressed in on her like the most beautiful pressure she never wanted to end.
But end it did—in a splintering of sensation that rent a shout of pleasure from her so loud her own ears rang.
Nate took her scream in his mouth, muffling the sound with a kiss so lush, so tender, she felt lost. As if she’d fallen anyway. Was falling still—even as he held her tight and pinned her to the wall with his final thrusts before his release came.
Trembling, spent, her muscles quivering in afterglow—or aftershock—she held on tight, her hands gripping his slick shoulders, her legs clamped to his hard hips.
He let her down slowly, easing out of her with infinite care—not as if they’d just had blinding hot sex against the wall, but as if she was something soft and precious. Even as her feet found purchase she was shaking so hard there was no way she’d be able to stand upright.
“I got you,” he said again, hands on her hips, forehead resting against hers, keeping her steady.
She could feel the deep staccato beating of his heart, and was overwhelmed to find it as erratic as her own.
Real, she thought. He felt so real. And for a silly little moment she wished it was all real. Him, this, her feelings. Everything.
Which snapped her smartly back to real life. To the fact that she wanted it all and he wanted nothing. To the fact that he was so fanatically independent he’d never budge enough to let someone take care of him. And that that was all she knew how to do.