Before I have time to let my head run away with worries about my inexperience, my insecurity about if he’ll like what he sees, he says quietly, “Whatever you want or don’t want, Kate, tell me. I’ll stop if you say stop. I’ll do whatever you need. Just tell me.”
“Okay.” I nod, trying desperately to overcome my nerves, to focus on how good it’s felt, to take reassurance in what he’s said. “Maybe let’s just . . . start like this?”
Nodding wordlessly, he kisses up my thighs, his tongue swirling against my skin, making me writhe and lock my legs tight around his shoulders. And then he’s there, his mouth warm over my underwear, the pressure of his tongue against the cotton firm and perfect. I gasp and throw my head back, sinking my hands into his hair. “Like that. Just . . . more.”
He makes a low, satisfied sound as he sucks me gently over the cotton of my underwear. My body feels so tight, everything between my thighs aching and hot and desperate for relief.
I’m so aroused from moving against him as he kissed and teased my nipples, so achingly close, but release is out of reach. I feel empty, agitated, knowing at some fundamental level that I want more.
“I need you,” I whisper. “Inside me.”
He groans against me, then gently pushes my underwear to the side, just enough to slip in a finger, then crook it forward.
“Oh God,” I yell hoarsely. “There. Just like that. Faster.”
That’s when the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs makes us both stop, lifting our heads, staring at the door. There’s the low timbre of Jamie’s voice. Bea’s cackling laugh.
“Shit,” I hiss.
Christopher stands up so suddenly, he looks like he got electrocuted. “Fuck.”
“My jeans!” A bubble of nervous laughter jumps out of me.
“Right.” He spins around, scraping both hands through his hair. “Where the hell are they?”
The key’s sliding into the lock. I stare at it. So does Christopher.
Shockingly fast, he bends and hoists me over his shoulder firefighter-style, then runs down the hallway, sliding into the bathroom with me and slamming the door shut just as I hear the front door open, then close.
The lights are on over the sink—I must have forgotten to turn them off before we left for paintball—so I can see as he crouches and eases me off his shoulder. I’m imbalanced, jelly-legged, and I thump back against the door.
Christopher stares up at me as he slumps from his crouch onto his knees. His forehead lands heavily against my hip. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “That was close.”
Jamie’s and Bea’s voices linger briefly in the main room, then die away, headed in the opposite direction in the apartment toward the bedrooms.
Peering up at me, he asks quietly, “Why are they here?”
I listen for a second and catch the high-pitched voice Bea uses for her pet hedgehog. My eyes slide shut with regret. “Cornelius needed his dinner. She probably tried to call and text to remind me to feed him, but I missed it.”
Come to think of it, I actually have no idea where my phone is. Hopefully buried in my coat pocket.
“Dammit, Kate,” he groans.
“Well, I’m sorry I was a little busy with you getting me off!” I hiss-whisper. “You want me preoccupied with modern technology while you’re going down on me?”
A groan rumbles out of him. He slides his hands around my waist, down lower, and wraps them around my ass. “I want you to make those sounds you were making again.” He lifts my shirt and presses a kiss to my stomach. “I want your heels digging into my shoulders.”
“I wasn’t making sounds,” I protest weakly. His mouth is on my hip bone, lower, over my underwear again. He kisses me there, slow and wet, and my legs buckle. Thankfully he catches me, pinning me by the hips against the door.
“You were. And I loved them.” He kisses me again, then nuzzles me, breathing deep. “Fuck, I don’t want to stop.”
“I don’t want you to, either.” My fingers slide into his hair.
He peers up at me, his hands rubbing my ass, kneading it. “Kate, can you be very quiet?”
I exhale shakily, moving my hips against his thumb as it starts to tease me over my underwear. My nipples feel hard and tight as they brush my shirt, the ache between my thighs so close to sweet satisfaction. “Probably not.”
“Try for me, honey,” he mutters, before kissing me between my thighs again, sucking and licking. Between his tongue and my own arousal, my underwear is soaked, plastered to my skin. “I need this so bad.”