More Than Hate You (More Than Words)

She grips my biceps, then strokes her palms over my shoulders. Her fingertips skate along the backs of my arms, making me shudder. She sways closer, brushing her body against mine as she lifts her lashes and looks straight into my eyes, like there’s nowhere in the world she’d rather be. Finally, she stands on her tiptoes to clasp her hands around my neck as she slants her lips over mine for another kiss.

If I let her tempt me again, we won’t make it to the bed.

Instead, I trail my lips across her jaw and up her neck. When I reach her ear, I cup her ass in my hands and lift her. “Wrap your legs around me.”

Sloan does, but she isn’t merely along for the ride. Instead, she kisses the top of my shoulder, then nips at my neck. “I want this.”

“I want this, too.”

“Way more than I should.”

What does she mean by that? But as we reach the bed and I yank down the duvet to lay her across the sheets, she opens her arms to me, her legs to me…and I lose the will to puzzle out whatever she’s trying to say.

Especially when she reaches for me. “Please.”

Normally, I love a woman begging me. But from her…it feels wrong. Sloan has had to scrape for acceptance and affection from most of the people in her life. I might be lying to her about a lot of things. I might have started flirting with her for the wrong reasons. But I’m not about to make her beg me for something I want to give her freely.

“Anything you want, baby. You just tell me.”

“I’m aching.” She arches and squirms, thighs parting even more for me.

Sloan wants to come. God knows I’d love to make her.

I don’t hesitate to climb onto the bed, onto her body, and take her mouth in a demanding kiss. She meets me halfway. With every press of our lips and each stroke of our tongues, she’s totally with me.

When we’re both panting and rocking together, when she’s lifting her hips to my stiff cock and whimpering as I grind into her through my pants, it’s time to give her what we both crave. I’ll work my way inside her, spend all night doing my fucking best to addict her to being with me, and let the chips fall in the morning.

Tearing my lips from hers, I drag my open mouth down her neck, fueled by her harsh breaths and mewls, until I reach her hard nipples and suck one between my lips. The other I manipulate—pinch, turn, scrape—over and over. Then I switch breasts, loving the way she smells of strawberries and woman, especially under the heavy weight of her breasts. I lave her gossamer-soft skin, tease her tips with my tongue, then suck them in until her tender buds scrape the roof of my mouth.

She gasps. “Oh, my god.”

I release her nipple from my mouth with a lingering suck. “I haven’t even gotten to the part where I make you feel really good. Yet.”

Sloan closes her eyes with the softest groan. “Then hurry.”

I won’t rush this. I want to savor every inch of her, explore until I’ve mapped her body—where she’s soft, where she’s hot, where she likes to be touched, and where stimulation rockets her into pleasure. But her scent has my head spinning. The farther I roam down her body, the more the sweetness of strawberry gives way to the tang of her pussy. She’s undeniably aroused. Suspecting that was one thing, but knowing it torques me up.

Fuck, I need to get closer. To feel her. To taste her.

As I kiss my way down her stomach and nip at her navel, I wedge my shoulders between her legs, grab her firm, slender thighs, and position them over my shoulders.

Her breath catches. “Jeremy…”

I don’t want her to call me that, but I can’t tell her to stop. So I silence her by settling my mouth over her pussy and going straight for her hard clit.

But the instant her flavor hits my taste buds, I lose my head.

I mean to work her to a frenzy with my tongue, balance her on the razor’s edge of pleasure until she’s scratching and desperate, then finally let her orgasm. But no. Some switch flips in my head. Primal instinct takes over, and I get insatiable, prying her delicate folds apart with my thumbs to lap every inch of her sensitive flesh and drink her in.

Beneath me, Sloan tenses and hisses, pressing her heels into the mattress like her body is in sensual distress. Like she doesn’t know how to stop needing me. She can’t hide the fact that I get to her, and it’s fucking awesome that I’m not the only one drowning in this fascination.

I grip her hips, thinking vaguely that my fingertips may leave bruises on her tender skin, while I eat her ravenously. Sloan lifts, thrusting her pussy in my mouth with a desperation that feeds mine. She grips the sheet, her body thrashing. She tosses her head, breathing hard and fast like she can’t catch her breath.

I know a woman’s body. I know when she’s close, and Sloan is on the precipice. My usual tactic of dangling her over the edge and proving who’s in charge? I don’t have that control or cool with her. And she proves she’s not about to let me when she grips a fistful of my hair and presses me closer to her flesh.

“Oh, my god. Yes… Yes. Yes!” she screams as she falls into pleasure, wracking and bucking under me with a groaned wail that fills my ears—and my pride—before tapering into a soft, replete sigh.

When I look up with a smile, she’s melting into the mattress. “What have you done to me?”