Hold Me
The anatomy was interesting, she thought. Similar but different.
He leaned in and kissed her as he tugged at her nightgown. She pulled it up to her waist, then he drew it off her.
Funny how a few minutes ago the thought of being naked would have made her nervous. Now all she could think about was that he was going to touch her without the impediment of fabric, and how good that was going to be. She sank back onto the mattress and wrapped her arms around him. He smiled then kissed her.
Her eyes closed as she lost herself in his mouth on hers. His hand returned to her breasts. She sighed as he cupped her curves. This was so nice, she thought. She could—
His hand was moving. Down her rib cage, across her belly, before settling on the top of her thigh. Because he was going to touch her there.
Destiny wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She was still kind of tense and hot, but also nervous. But the kissing was good, and when he didn’t move right away, she relaxed. Because so far everything he’d done had felt nice. Not earth-shattering like everyone said, but still pleasant. If this was sex, and it was important to him, she could certainly see doing it every month or so.
He let his hand travel up her thigh, back to her stomach then make the return trip. So slow and easy, she almost didn’t notice. The second time, he went all the way to her breast, where he stroked her nipples. The restlessness returned, and she shifted.
When he went back down again, somehow her legs opened a little, and he rested his fingers against her girl parts. Not pushing or actually touching, just kind of resting.
He broke the kiss.
“I want you to tell me if you don’t like what I’m doing,” he said softly. “If it hurts or makes you uncomfortable.”
She opened her eyes and found him watching her. His dark blue gaze was intense.
“If you want to tell me to go faster or slower, that would be good, too.”
“Why would I do that?” she asked.
He smiled. “There will be a point when you’re going to want to give instructions.”
“I doubt that.”
The smile turned into a grin. “Trust me.”
“Okay.”
He moved his hands against her, pressing down some. Warmth seemed to radiate from wherever he touched. An odd warmth that made her want to strain toward him.
“What do you know about anatomy?” he asked. “About this area in particular?”
“The usual stuff.”
He lightly kissed her. “Close your eyes.”
She did as he requested. His fingers parted her, then he touched her intimately.
That one night at the bar had been different. He’d been inside her, but he hadn’t touched her. Not like this. Not with fingers that seemed to find every nerve ending she had and set it tingling.
He pushed a single finger inside her, and she instinctively pressed her hips toward him. She liked the feeling of fullness. The in-and-out motion made her strain a little. She parted her legs even more. He stroked inside her, pushing up, and in and—
The good became great as he found some nerve knot or something. Her breath caught as he moved his finger back and forth against sensitive inner skin.
“G-spot,” he murmured.
“I thought that was a myth.”
He moved his finger again. “You tell me.”
She would if she could breathe, she thought, tilting her hips to give him more access.
He pulled out, and she nearly whimpered. But before she could complain, he placed three fingers on the very center of her and moved in a slow circle.
“Clitoris.”
She would have said something, only she couldn’t speak. Nothing they’d done had prepared her for the waves of heat and need rushing through her.
She was helpless, she thought, sinking into the sensation of him circling and circling, the pace not changing, yet the tension inside her building.
She wanted to whimper. She wanted to beg. Every part of her only cared about that small core. About what he was doing to her body.
Her breathing increased as he touched her over and over. He moved a little faster. She strained toward something she couldn’t see, couldn’t touch, couldn’t—
She exploded, flew apart into a zillion pieces, into the very essence of what she had always been. She might have gasped or screamed or been totally silent. She had no way of knowing. She could only be lost in the powerful waves of pleasure reducing her to base metal before allowing her to reassemble into a metamorphosed version of herself.
When she could think again, when she could breathe and speak, she opened her eyes and found Kipling watching her. One corner of his mouth turned up.
“That would be an orgasm.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE HOUSE WAS PRETTY. Two stories with a partially finished basement. Four bedrooms upstairs, lots of windows to let in light and a big backyard. Destiny knew she should be checking out storage space and the size of the kitchen. Did the layout work for her, and would the place need paint? There were considerations when one purchased a home for the first time. But honest to God, she simply couldn’t think straight. Not with her body still quivering and tingling with aftershocks.
Someone should have been a lot clearer about the whole sex thing.
Kipling walked back into the kitchen and smiled at her. “The yard is nice. Big enough for a swing set and a dog to run around. There’s a big tree with good-size branches. What do you think about a tree house?”
He had such a nice mouth, she thought, watching him as he talked. And the way he moved. Every now and then there was the slightest hesitation. From his accident. He had scars, too. On his legs and hips. One circled halfway around to his back.