Better Hate than Never (The Wilmot Sisters, #2)(83)



Pinning her against the counter, I slip my fingers out gently, just enough to bring her body’s wetness up and rub her clit.

She cries out, burying her face in my neck as I stroke her softly, working her up to orgasm. Her cries get faster, hoarse and pleading, and I feel my body tighten, begging for its own release as she chases hers. Denying myself like this is as foreign as trying to speak another language and just as difficult, but it’s gratifying, pouring all my attention solely into what she needs, worshipping Kate the way she deserves.

Feeling how close she is, I slip my fingers inside her once more on a deep, curved stroke. Kate yanks me toward her by the collar, until my mouth finds hers, and I’m lost to her sounds, her cries as she comes against my hand.

Panting, she drops her head against my chest. “I can . . .” She sighs, dazed and satisfied, her hand slipping down my chest, toward my tented jeans. “I can return the favor.”

My hand finds hers and stops its progress. I bring it up to my chest again, clutched against my heart. “I don’t want a damn thing from you.”

She scowls. “Gee, thanks.”

I laugh roughly. “I didn’t say that right. Sentences are difficult right now, given I barely have any blood in my brain.”

“Which is why I—”

“There’s no rush.” I kiss her slowly, softly. “What I just did, that is more than enough for me right now.”

She arches an eyebrow. “That is not what the state of your pants indicates.”

I smile against our kiss, teasing my fingers lower again, ready and hungry to give her more. “Ignore that.”

“Impossible,” she whispers.

“Hmm. I can think of a way to distract you.” Watching her smile in spite of herself, I tell her, “Now, hush, and let me make you come one more time before company’s here.”





? THIRTY-ONE ?


    Kate


Some things have changed over the past week—I’ve gotten very confident with making out and dry humping on all sorts of household surfaces. And some things have not changed. Like my capacity to stay on top of my laundry.

“Kate!” Christopher calls, followed by the sound of the apartment door shutting.

“One second!” I call back, scouring my room for a single piece of clothing that’s clean and isn’t riddled with holes or questionable stains on it. It’s pretty difficult, seeing as my laundry is a mixed-up disaster and my room looks like a bomb went off in it.

I hear his footsteps coming down the hallway and, out of sheer desperation, yank a long-sleeve shirt from his Christopher drawer, throwing it over my head, cuffing the sleeves to a slouchy three-quarter length. Rich cerulean blue and superfine cotton, it’s soft and comfy, long enough to pass for a tunic.

“I can work with this,” I tell my reflection, tugging on black leggings and quickly stomping into my Doc Martens. Then I rush out of my room, shutting the door behind me right in time.

Christopher stops just short of the door and frowns. “Everything okay?”

I nod, my grip firm on the doorknob. “Mm-hmm. Let’s go.” I take his hand and start down the hall, but he doesn’t budge, sending me boomeranging back into him.

“Oof.” I bump into his chest. “C’mon, we have to go.”

He stares down at me. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

I grimace. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice that.”

His eyes darken as he steps closer. “That was a very foolish thing to hope, Katerina.”

“I’m behind on laundry,” I tell him apologetically. “The machines in the basement creep me out, and I was so busy all week, I kept forgetting to go to the laundromat, but I’ll do laundry soon, I promise. I’ll wash it right away and give it back to you—”

He bends and kisses me, deep and slow. I lean into it on a sigh as he nudges my mouth open and his tongue grazes mine.

“Keep it,” he says between kisses. “You wearing it is not the problem.”

I blink up at him, a little dazed by those kisses. “Then what is the problem?”

A husky laugh leaves him as he wraps me in his arms. “The problem is that I’m thinking about you in just that shirt, lifting it while my hands wander up your thighs straight to where I want, then tearing it off of you and teasing you with my mouth and hands until you’re begging me to make you come.”

My eyes widen. “Me wearing your shirt inspired all of that?”

He sighs, then he kisses me softly, closemouthed and sweet. “It doesn’t take much these days to inspire deeply erotic thoughts about you.”

I bite my lip. Leaning closer, I wrap my arms around his neck.

“What kind of erotic thoughts?” I ask, pressing up on my toes, taking his lip between my teeth and tugging softly.

On a growl, he pulls himself away, putting distance between our bodies except for his forehead, which he presses to mine. “Even I have limits, and telling you what I’ve been fantasizing about before we have to leave for Sunday dinner is it. Now, go on, get your jacket and bag so we can leave. We’ll be late if we don’t head out now, and we both know how Maureen feels about that.”

I grab his hand as he turns toward my room. “What are you doing?”

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