Sweet Cheeks (24 page)

My nipples harden and my mouth waters. My body aches in places I’ve never felt before as I take him in. The way he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. The fine mist of sweat on his chest. The flex of one of his pecs causes me to realize I’m staring. I look up and notice the barely there arrogant smile on his lips before meeting his eyes again.

“I keep telling myself that we can’t do this, Saylor.”

His words cut through the tension settling around us. Throw water on the sexual fire sparking between us.

And even though his words say no, every single thing about his body says yes. The predatory posture. The gleam in his eyes. The tautness of his muscles. Visible restraint that a part of me wants to test. I wonder how hard I’ll have to push before it snaps.

I know without a doubt that snap will sting, but for some reason I have a feeling when it comes to Hayes Whitley, the sting might just be worth it.

Another step.

Predator toward prey.

“Can’t do what?” My voice is barely a whisper. The tight buds of my nipples press against my thin bikini top and communicate what the rasp of my voice can’t.
I want you. Kiss me. I only want to think about here. And now. And the way you make me feel
.

His chuckle is soft. Low. Strained. He’s closer now. Within touching distance. He reaches out to the bowl beside us on the counter, runs a finger around the edge of it, and brings it to his lips. He waits to make sure I’m watching him as he sucks the batter from it. And damn it to hell if the groan he makes when he pulls his finger from his mouth doesn’t pluck on the strings of desire running throughout me.

“What can’t we do, Hayes?” I ask again. Have to. I need an answer to know if what I think he’s saying and what I want him to be saying are the same damn thing.

Another step.

He withdraws his finger from his mouth as he angles his head and holds my gaze. Waiting. Gauging. Anticipating. I can feel the heat of his body. Hear his steady inhale of breath. And I’m more than ready for his touch when he reaches out and places his hand on the side of my neck.

“Everything.” He licks his lips, glances down to my mouth, and then back up to my eyes as his thumb rubs ever so slightly over my collarbone. “And nothing.”

“Oh.” My mind spins. My body aches. Every part of me wants.

“This is a bad idea.”

He leans in and brushes his lips against mine. It’s just a simple taste of a kiss but with that singular action my reasons disappear,
my heart tumbles
, and my body aches for him.

“A terrible idea,” I murmur and this time I take the initiative and kiss him back. A soft part of the lips. A barely there brush of tongues.

“Horrible,” he whispers before matching the depth of my kiss and adding to it. His other hand comes up to frame the side of my face, his thumb resting just beneath the line of my jaw so he can control the angle of the kiss.

“Awful.” Our bodies mesh the same time our tongues do. His body still hot from his run. Still firm. Still slick with sweat.

“Stupid,” he whispers. A slight smile forming on his lips before he dives back in to taste and take. Taunt and tantalize. Demand and offer.

I moan. Can’t help that I do because there’s a dominating tenderness to his kiss. A forgiving relentlessness. A desperate calmness. There’s no rush to it. No hurry to get to the next part.

Thoughts escape me with each dance of our tongues. With each tug on my bottom lip by his. With each soft directive of his lips moving against mine.

My hands skim up the sides of his torso, loving the feel of the bunching of his muscles beneath my palms. He fists a hand in my hair and changes the angle of the kiss. Choreographs the next step in our slow dance of desire.

“Saylor.” My name on his lips in that gravelly tone scrapes over me. Drags me from the haze his kisses have pulled me under. He leans back so our eyes can meet.

Seconds pass. Questions, wants, needs, flicker through his eyes.
Should we? Can we? How is this happening again?

His jaw pulses. His dick is hard against my hip. His waning control reflected in the tightening of his fingers in my hair.

My lips part.
Yes. Yes.

Because it’s us
.

But I can’t give the answers because I’m silenced by the moment and by the bright burn of arousal coursing through my body. By the need to want and the want to need this connection with him.

By acknowledging that I love him.
Probably always have
.

“I’ve never been able to resist you. Not then. Not now.”

Not ever.

Our past and present collide in one sweeping moment of time. Our mouths meet again in a savage union of lips and tongue and want and desire and greed and hunger. Our hands slide and grab and feel and possess each other’s flesh.

We’re a frenzy of movements. Of not being able to touch each other quickly enough, and yet wanting to slow down and take our time with this reunion that has been years in the making.

His mouth is on the underside of my neck. His hands are pulling down the straps of my swimsuit, then palming my breasts. Thumbs run over the tips of my nipples sending a tsunami of sensation through my body.

His lips lace hungry kisses against the sensitive skin to my ear. I fumble with his shorts while he pushes down my bikini bottoms. My cool hands slide beneath the waistband to find him hot and hard and ready. My mouth falls open from his teeth scraping over my nipple while his hands are everywhere and not enough places all at the same time. The evidence of what I do to him stiff in my hand.

His hands are on my waist. My feet leave the floor, and the hard granite of the countertop is cold beneath my ass. There’s a clatter of utensils. A thud of something falling over. A plume of flour in the air. But Hayes doesn’t miss a beat. He steps between my thighs and pulls my ass to the edge so I’m perched there, needing his body to ensure I don’t fall. And then he claims my mouth again in a kiss that promises possession and surrender.

My hands are on his shoulders. His fingers feather over the entrance of my sex, part it, then slide up and back through my arousal. My head falls back. My thighs spread wider, my body instantly giving him access to every single part of me without a word.

I moan when he slips his fingers into me. A teasing inch at first. A suggestion of what’s to come. And then his mouth is on mine, pulling me under once again. And just when I’m drugged enough, he slips his fingers all the way in, circles them to ignite the nerves within, and rubs his thumb with a hint of touch over my clit.

My hips buck at the onslaught of sensation. Tongue. Fingers. Thumb. His groan. My plea for more. Then it starts all over again. A slow build up. A soft seduction of my nerves. A murmur of praise. An assault of pleasure.

The orgasm surprises me. It sounds stupid but it feels so very different from what I’m used to. A slow surge of warmth. A tensing of muscles. Hayes’s name on my lips as the wave rises and pulls me in its unexpected undertow. Drowns me in the surge of pleasure and a wash of desire. My muscles pulse around his fingers as his thumb continues to circle over my clit. My fingernails dig into his biceps and hips twist in pleasurable pain.

I’m still lost in the orgasmic fog, still on the high from it when he withdraws his fingers from me and brings them to my parted lips. His eyes are on mine—locked and intense—when he coats my lips with my own arousal. I draw in a shaky breath as he slowly leans forward and runs his tongue over the path his fingers left. The moan he emits is sex personified.

It’s unexpectedly arousing.

It’s entirely consuming.

It’s intoxicatingly erotic.

His lips follow. A brush against mine. When I lick my tongue against my lips to ask for more, his chuckle rumbles through the room.

“My pace, Saylor. Not yours. I’m in control now. You may own pieces of me you never even knew, but right now, I’m going to own you. Every single part of you.”

My blood fires at the words. Libido ignites, and yet I’m stunned into silence. Shocked by his confession. Body rocked by his touch.

“Hayes.” One word. A plea. A question. A sigh.

He kisses me again, but this time with more demand. More greed. He’s tongue and lips and little nips of teeth, all the while my body is still vibrating from the remnants of the orgasm.

His hand is on my neck, holding my head still as he seduces my lips and relights the fire that he left smoldering. My hands reach down and circle his length to stroke the hardness of him. I feel the drop of pre-cum on his head. Smear it around with my thumb before deliberately leaning back and sucking on my thumb.

I close my eyes and taste him on my skin. Moan softly. When I open them back up, his eyes are ablaze with a hunger that’s new to me.

“I want you, Say.” His voice is guttural. Desperate. Empowering.

I slide my hands to my breasts and rub my nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. The flour he knocked over coats my hands. Adds a difference of sensation. My lips part in a soft gasp.

He swallows visibly and darts his tongue to his lips. “Right here. Right now.” He steps into me. Slides a hand up my torso, over my hands on my breasts, and replaces my fingers with his own. The sensation is heavenly. My back arches and my head falls back but not enough to lose eye contact with him.

And just when I want to close my eyes he dips forward and circles my nipple with his tongue. Then sucks. It’s like an electric current has been sent straight to every nerve in my body. Shocking them aware. Making them feel every singular sensation: the heat of his tongue, the scrape of his stubble, and the vibration of his groan against my skin.

“No one’s watching now.” He looks up to me from beneath lids heavy with desire. “It’s just you. And me.”

His words are like an aphrodisiac. A stimulant. An eraser to the errant thoughts I had before he walked in.

I was wrong.
He did want to kiss me.

“And fuck how much I want you right now.”

Wanting to test the control he claims to want, I bring a hand to the back of his neck and pull him to me. My mouth is against his. A taunt of a kiss. A nip to his lip. His name a moan. I show him I want
him
just as fiercely. Running my tongue over the coarseness of his jaw to his ear, I say, “I’ve always wanted you.”

The words are out before I can stop them. The transparency of the moment taking over and speaking truths I can’t take back. A confession I don’t think I even wanted to admit to myself.

There’s a falter in motion. A second where our eyes meet and our emotional guard is lowered. And then the moment takes over.

A growl deep in his throat as he slides his hand back up my midline between my breasts before pushing me to lie back onto the flour-coated granite slab behind me. His hands hook around my thighs and pull me toward him.

A moment of separation. A curse as his feet pad from the room before coming back. The telltale rip of foil.

Anticipation builds. His fingers part me and cool air touches my heated skin. The thick curve of his head as he presses it against my wet center. I widen my thighs. Close my eyes. And revel in that soft, sweet, all-consuming burn as he slowly pushes his way into me.

Good. God. Yes.

My back arches. My hands press flat against the cool counter. My breath catches. The ache builds, inch by agonizingly slow inch until he’s sheathed root to tip.

His soft groan of, “Jesus Fucking Christ, Saylor,” is enough of a response to tell me he feels the same way I do.

His fingers tighten on my hips and desire is reflected in the touch. My muscles tremble. My eyes are closed, mind lost to the thought of how, after all this time, only one person has ever made me feel like this: full, complete, wanted, desired, loved.

And then he moves. Dragging my mind from thoughts that will just complicate matters and flooding me with the slow and steady rhythm he pulls us into. I’m swamped with pleasure immediately. The warmth is so intense. The manipulation of every part of me overwhelming.
It’s been so long.

He pushes all the way into me and grinds his hips so the base of his shaft adds a touch of friction against my clit. On his withdrawal, the crest of his cock rubs against the pleasure point of nerves inside. Then he eases almost all the way out, teases me with just the tip and then begins the slow slide back in.

I’m drugged by his adept skill. His insatiable finesse.

My eyes flutter open to take in the sight of him before me. Muscles tense, teeth biting into his bottom lip, head angled down to watch where we’re joined.

He looks up and meets my eyes. A dare and a warning flash in his expression. His nonverbal advice to hold on as he begins to pick up the pace.

The unmistakable sound of our bodies connecting, uniting, separating, and then starting the process all over again fill the kitchen. My body glides on the flour beneath me. Backward with each push in, then toward him, as his hands on my hips pull my ass over the edge of the counter again. He uses the unbalanced weight of my hips off the edge to push into me until he bottoms out.

His guttural sounds. The unrelenting pace. My name groaned on his lips. The grip of his hands on my flesh. The harshness of the granite beneath me, and his hardness within me.

Our words are as frenzied as our movements. Like we can’t get them out fast enough and at the same time want to draw this out as long as possible.

Right there.

More.

Oh God
.

So tight.

Deeper
.

So good.

Oh God
.

Saylor.

My body chills and heats. An ache like I’ve never experienced before tears through me making my want turn desperate. Makes my moans become demands. And without warning, I tumble over the edge into that delirious free fall of ecstasy. My mind shuts down. My body takes over. An explosion of heat. A desperate gulp of air. A cry of his name. My muscles contracting around him so that even the slightest movement from him brings me such intense pleasure that I want him to stop and not stop simultaneously.

I’m swamped in the bliss of the orgasm. Lost to its euphoric haze.