Manwhore +1

“God, come on. Don’t be shy with me, Rachel. Not with me.”

I stop tugging at that, and he looks at me with such a look of tenderness, I melt.

He lowers it to my waist and my pulse quickens as his eyes take in my breasts in the lamplight, my abdomen, the lower half of my body hidden still by the sheet that dropped there. As he lowers it down my hips and it slides down my legs, my body starts to ache horribly for his touch. My senses coming to life before he even touches me.

He tosses the sheet at my feet now.

“What do you want from me?” I croak.

His hand coasts down my rib cage, his thumb slowly stroking my hipbone as he leans over and nibbles my ear. “Everything.” I sigh. His lips slide across my jaw and back to latch on mine. He doesn’t seem to want to talk now.

I can’t speak now either. I’m too busy tasting him back. Fingers wandering into his thick hair. Breasts pressing to his flat chest. And his warm tongue and strong lips leaving mine to wander . . . wander . . . down my throat. He moves the little R necklace aside and sets a kiss on the nook below as his hand caresses down my flat abdomen.

I start closing my thighs—this always makes me vulnerable. Thinking he’ll kiss me there. He stops my thighs from fully closing and urges one open to the side.

His breath coasts over my nipple before his mouth crosses the peak. On the inside of my leg, his thumb travels up my thigh.

“Saint,” I whimper anxiously.

He tastes my mouth again, harder. He rolls me to my back and comes over me in his jeans, his bare chest hot against mine. And that sexy smiling mouth of his kisses me, and I’m dragging my hands up the grooves of his back, undulating as I try to get him to give me what I need—him, all of him—right now.

He’s running his hands up and down my sides as he samples the skin of my neck, the tips of my breasts, my navel, like he truly doesn’t know where to start. He’s savoring, but at the same time, hungry. His lips nip and bite and his tongue swipes out to taste, his hands kneading as they go, his muscles taut with tension, his energy intense, I wonder if I’m enough to appease him.

He licks his tongue into my belly button and parts my legs with one wandering hand. I stare up at the ceiling and groan as I try to calm my body down, rolling my head to the side as pleasure rocks me.

He teases his thumb over my folds first, and then brings his two longest fingers to stroke over the outside. I fist his hair and pull him away from my breast, pulling him up hungrily to my mouth. He gives me the kiss I want, but then tears free and edges back. His eyes miss no detail of me splayed on his bed. My wet folds slick under his two fingers. My breasts rising and falling. My face, which feels soft and weak with desire.

One nipple disappears into his mouth again. His hair gleams in the lamplight, shadows cast across his muscles. He’s still in jeans. And I’m so very naked, so very caressed, so very turned on and vulnerable as he inches his head down. I sense him look at me down there as he uses his two hands to spread my legs open.

“Oh, Malcolm.” I’m red all over.

He leans down and sucks my clit. I arch up and groan.

He rubs me under his tongue and as I rock my hips instinctively, taken over, his fingers are there, ready to penetrate me. He watches me arch. I should’ve known he’d want everything. Take everything. He warned me he would. My instinct of self-preservation wars against the pleasure arrowing through me and the need to be taken by him.

I sigh his name and let my legs skew open. He whispers my name reverently and sucks and kisses me a little more.

“Saint, I’m going to—”

He doesn’t stop until I come. I’m still shuddering when he stands to undress; I’m too weak to cover myself. To pretend I have control over this kind of want. It’s like he knows my walls are up and he’s determined to crumble them.

I didn’t know desire like this existed. I see him stand there, rolling on a condom, ready to take me and I lie here, spread open and aching for him to. I relax in anticipatory relief when his naked body covers mine, and he opens me up to receive him.

I groan as he wraps my arms around his neck and my legs around his hips, my head falling back . . . ready, eager, wanting. He kisses my breasts, grabbing my ass and tilting my hips upward as he drives inside. Our bodies tighten in pleasure as we connect.

I feel him stretch me . . . take me.

Then we begin to move. Quiet. Only our breathing audible.

My every sense is sensitized to a million.

I stare, in hazy ecstasy, up into his face, lit by the lamplight and golden and perfect, and ohmigod, his eyes look so hot for me. So violent and fiercely tender for me as he stares down at me. I knot up inside.

My chest flutters as I wonder if he can see it right in my eyes in every wild beat of my heart, I love you I love you Iloveyou . . .

I stay staring as we move, my hands caressing his chest, his body hoisted up by one arm while his free hand makes love to my skin. And then we start kissing, and we don’t stop, the connection of our bodies too delicious, our mouths tasting, savoring, hot, wet, mine eager and soft, his more demanding and thirsty, our bodies moving together.

We lie there after he goes clean up, silent and sweaty and I’ve lost all modesty at the moment. I feel raw and open and unable to pull myself together right now.

I let him kiss my mouth for a while; my lips are red and I like it. I like his bed, I like our bodies tangled, I like that he broke me down and I get to stay and sleep here as I pull myself together again. I realize his breathing is deeper and shift a little, and he’s asleep. I reach up and touch his lips and quietly set a kiss on them.

I know Saint usually has trouble sleeping and I wonder how many nights he’s lain here, in this bed, without shutting his eyes. Enough that he’s fast asleep now, as if he too feels at peace having me back in his arms. I take his arm and curl it around me. And kiss the corner of his lips.

“Good night, Sin,” I whisper.

I never thought I could love a guy this freaking hard.

SOMETHING NEW

Helen loved my “Things That Obsess Us” piece inspired by the Cubs game, and I’m excited to be writing again. I’m hopeful these newest pieces will help me open the door to one of my job prospects.

I was already at Lokus this week, and I’ve already queried every one of the places Saint mentioned. But my phone is silent.

Sometimes at night, when Saint leaves bed to work, or sometimes even when he’s holding me, I quietly worry about my options.

Or lack of them.

Valentine tells me that sometimes it takes time. That I may have to freelance, but I’m scared to lose the security of a full-time job, especially with my mother and our lack of health insurance for her.