Melody’s fingers plowed through Beat’s hair, scrubbed down his flexing back, and came around the front to his belt, unbuckling it, using her thumb to free the top button.
Her hand hovered an inch from the thick jut of his erection, but didn’t touch.
Two seconds passed. Three.
His breath coasted over her damp lips. “Kept it hard, like you asked me to.”
A moan broke from deep in her throat. Those whispered words twisted hot in her center, liquid warmth making itself known between her thighs. She could feel it happening. The arousal of her body, her flesh going pliant everywhere. Everywhere. Intimacy with Beat was her only aphrodisiac and he was radiating the need for it, too. They were in too deep, but they were in it together so stopping was impossible. Togetherness was too good and right.
“What am I going to do with it?” she said, rubbing their wet lips together.
“Anything you goddamn want, Peach.”
Was it normal to feel one’s pupils expand? “Mmm.” She traced the thick line of him with her index finger and watched his eyes go blind, a notch catching and locking in his throat. He needed to be touched, but he needed to not be touched even more, at least right now. Somehow, she knew. And she gave by withholding friction, leaving him panting while she went to unbutton his dress shirt instead, undoing the buttons from throat to belly. Their mouths devoured, his exploring hers desperately from above, never stopping, not even when she pushed the garment from his shoulders and let it fall to the ground, followed by his battery pack and microphone. Thank God they’d turned off the mics before coming up the stairs or America would be listening to groans and sighs and shifting clothing that only meant one thing.
Melody’s shirt came off next, their hands colliding to unfasten the front snap of her bra, dislodging the mic while yanking the lingerie down her arms, leaving her breasts free. “I’ve wanted to get you out of these fucking jeans since you walked out of my guest room this morning,” he rasped, attacking the side of her neck with kisses, rough licks of his tongue. “I can still feel the seam of them on my dick from the lap dance you gave me earlier. Can feel you riding me, working me until I’m stiff.” He nipped at her mouth. “You’ve been arrested in those jeans. You sang ‘Rattle the Cage’ in them like you’d been saving it up your whole life. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to see you in these jeans again without feeling like I’m dying. Or living for the first time. I can’t tell.” His hands smoothed up the valleys of her sides and closed over her breasts, kneading, thumbing her nipples with the pads of his thumbs. “But right now, I want those jeans off.” Slowly, he backed her toward the wall, just to the right of the giant, circular window, and dropped to his knees, his tongue leaving a shiny path from throat to belly button. “I want them off so I can give you some good fucking head.”
He wasn’t gentle about unfastening her jeans. The button was barely free when he wrestled with the zipper and began dragging the denim down her thighs, past her knees, to her ankles. When she kicked them off, he caught her right leg in midair and held her open, his breath hot against the front of her panties.
“Mel.” He grazed her belly button with his teeth, then took a soft, full bite of her hip, shooting torpedoes of sensation all the way to her toes. Pulses she couldn’t name started to pound. His tongue rode along the skin just above her waistband, hip to hip, his eyes heavy with lust and trained on her. And slowly, slowly, he peeled her panties down to her feet, a ripple passing through his shoulders when he bared her sex. “You should know that I want to get my cock so deep between your legs, it becomes your entire world while it’s there.” In keeping with Beat’s words—his warning?—something animalistic flickered in the depths of his blue eyes that caused a flutter in Melody’s throat, a long, anticipatory tightening in her core. “And I might stop right at my edge, but I don’t hold back getting there.”
“I’m ready for anything with you.”
Her trust relaxed the line between his brows, his lips kissing a path from her belly button to the top of her slit. His breath heated her there for long seconds, moistening her flesh, his demeanor reminiscent of someone in prayer. And then he transformed right into a sinner, forming a V with his middle and index fingers to gently push apart her flesh. His tongue lapped once at her exposed center, and then brought it back into his mouth to savor her flavor with a groan, before he leaned in again with triple the eagerness. He made sounds in his throat while he delved his tongue into the valley of her sex again, again, again, his tongue meeting her clit with more firmness with every journey until it simply stayed there and rubbed, rubbed, rubbed. His blue eyes were trained on her face, glittering, as his thumbs dug into her hip abductors. And her thighs were a blur of trembling already, from the view, from the experience, yes, but the friction. It was raw and personal and he was visibly enjoying it. So much that he looked intoxicated, his shaft bulging through the opening of his dress pants, stretching his briefs, the proof of his own hunger drawing her deeper, deeper into her own enjoyment.
He delivered her oral pleasure like it was an honor, like he wouldn’t survive without the next twist of his tongue against her entrance, the firm circling of her swelling nub.
I’m so wet.
Which he apparently loved, because he seemed to want that offering all over his chin, his mouth. He buried his face against her and turned it side to side, collecting her, pushing his tongue upward once again into the separation of her sex. Fucking her with his tongue, pressing it into her body while the V of his fingers spread her, giving him more access. And once he got it, those fingers took turns with his tongue, pumping inside of her, which was when it all came crashing down. She’d been so distracted by the overtly carnal side of Beat, so determined to memorize it, that she didn’t acknowledge the gathering of her own release until it was on the verge of liberating her. It blew through her now with a vengeance, her right leg shooting up to wrap around the back of his head, her hips tilting, babble bubbling from her lips while those intimate muscles flexed and throbbed and set her free of tension.
Some of it.
Even with the exhilarating rush of her climax still cutting through her middle, holding her shaking legs captive, she felt her own hunger crest again, because Beat swiped a forearm across his shining mouth and then looked right at her while licking it off again. And her head swam, her nipples beading, the lowest part of her belly growing heavy with desire once more. With responsibility and anticipation and something more magical . . .
An electrical connection to this man that moved their bodies in unrehearsed choreography. Beat lunged to his feet, as if he sensed that she needed kissing, grounding, and he gave it to her, urging her lips open with his tongue and sharing the taste of her in a way that was unabashed, almost prideful. But she didn’t require any reminder of the pleasure he’d just given her, because she could think of nothing else. Her right hand moved without a command from her brain, sliding beneath the waistband of his briefs, wanting, needing, to reciprocate.
“Ahhh, that’s good, Peach. Grip it as hard as you can.” His breath pelted her mouth, his thickly muscled chest lifting and falling. “I like when it hurts.”