Shatter (True Believers #4)(7)
Author: Erin McCarthy

He paused to give his own moan when I made contact with his business, squeezing down the length of him.

But he still didn’t hurry. He didn’t shuck his pants to his knees and pump into me for five minutes, slapping the side of my ass at random intervals.

Not even close. He moved his mouth over me, trading br**sts, licking down my middle, tongue dipping into my belly button. His hands trailed behind everywhere his tongue touched, and the feathery brushing over top of the wet path he’d created had me sucking in air on desperate gasps, my grip tightening on his cock.

“Darwin,” I murmured, still needing to test both names on him. I couldn’t figure out which one suited him better. Normally nicknames feel more personal, but that didn’t seem quite accurate with him.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know,” I told him, free hand digging into the back of his hair, urging his mouth back to my nipple. “I have no idea why I just said that.” I didn’t. I couldn’t think.

“Maybe you wanted to ask me something?” he suggested, glancing up at me with a wicked smile.

It should be illegal for a guy to be both that intelligent and that goddamn hot. He held all the cards. “You’re right. I wanted to ask you to take my pants off.”

His nostrils flared. “I’d be happy to.” Moving down my stomach, he undid my button and took down the zipper. He gave a tug but the jeans didn’t do much. “I’ll be really happy when these f**king skinny jeans go out of style.”

That struck me as super funny for some reason and I giggled.

“What?” he said, smiling at me. “It’s true. These are a pain in the ass.”

I had no response for that. And I wasn’t sure why I was laughing, exactly. Maybe because for the first time in forever I felt . . . sexy. Wanted. Even if it was for right now, and right now only.

Instead of answering him, I just gripped the waistband of my jeans and shoved them, along with my panties, straight down my thighs. “There. You can take it the rest of the way.”

The way his eyes darkened and he muttered, “Holy f**k,” as he stared down at my body was very satisfying. “You weren’t lying about the piercing.”

“No.” It wasn’t something I would have sought out. I’d done it at Nathan’s urging, who had seen too much sex on the Internet. He’d insisted it would be super hot for him and super sensitive for me during foreplay. Except there never was foreplay. About all he had ever done with it was flick the hoop with his finger and occasionally tug it when he wanted my attention. I had actually been meaning to take it out, but just never quite got around to it. I was used to it, though, and when I was getting turned on, it did give it an extra tingle.

For a second his hand hovered over me, before lightly cupping me. His eyes shifted up to meet mine. “You shave.”

Since it wasn’t a question I didn’t answer. I’d been shaving since freshman year in high school because of bikinis and volleyball and later because of boys. I liked a clean surface to set the table.

He shook his head slightly and I frowned, wondering what it meant, but he kissed me before I could ask, while his finger slipped inside me. Words disappeared. What he found was that I was already wet. What I found was that Jonathon had long fingers that knew just where to stroke. This was no twenty-year-old jamming his fingers into me like he was scraping a peanut butter jar. His touch was gentle, exploratory, and when he got a positive reaction from me, he settled in with a steady rhythm that probably could only be topped by my own touch, and I’d had years of practice. He had only been doing it for five minutes. While his finger stroked, his thumb teasingly brushed over my clitoris, flipping the ring back and forth, creating extra friction and stimulation.

I turned my head, too many sensations pouring over me. I needed air, I needed a break. But that only freed him up to drop his tongue over my nipple again, flicking it in a steady rhythm that matched what he was doing to my clitoris. Back and forth, back and forth, tongue and thumb until I was squirming on the bed, my grip on his arms desperate. I scissored my feet trying to get my pants all the way off so I could fully spread my legs.

He knew what I was trying to do and without breaking rhythm inside me, he shifted off my breast and leaned down to jerk hard on my jeans, freeing my legs.

“Thank you,” I breathed, letting my hips drop apart.

“I’m the one who should be giving thanks.” He rubbed his jaw and swept his eyes over me from head to toe. “You are honestly the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I want to lick every single inch of you.”

I wasn’t going to say no to that. He was already halfway to accomplishing that goal anyway. My hand was trembling, like it had been when I had tried to open my apartment door, as I took his wrist and pulled his touch away from me. I was too close to having an orgasm and he didn’t even have his jeans off yet.

“No finger?” he asked.

I shook my head, wondering again where my voice had disappeared to. I never stop talking. Ever. But I had nothing to say. I just wanted to feel.

“Tongue?” he asked.

It would probably kill me but the very thought of what he could do with his touch there had me nodding eagerly.

The corner of his mouth turned up. “First let me take my pants off. I feel a little overdressed.”

“Like an Eskimo in the Everglades,” I said.

He laughed. “Kylie, you are a funny girl.” Then he sat up and stripped his jeans and boxer briefs off, his erection springing up at the freedom.

My mouth felt hot, my saliva thick. My necklaces were stuck to my damp skin and the tickling of his hair on my stomach as he descended over me had me shivering. Then I felt the first touch of the tip of his tongue on me, just below the navel. He cut a line straight down, playing with the ring before bypassing it and going to the last stop on the bus line before coming up and starting all over again. This time he lingered longer, toying with my piercing, taking it between his teeth and tugging gently so that I had damp palms and hitched breathing, and heavy eyelids.

His thumbs massaged either side as his tongue moved from playing with my clit to deep into the core of my body, then back again.

“I like your love button and its bling,” he murmured.

“I like you liking it.” Even if he insisted on calling it such a stupid name. For a scientist I would have expected something more anatomically correct.

None of which mattered when he did what he was doing, for longer than I could keep track of, for so long that I almost forgot how to breathe and definitely forgot how to think. “Oh, God,” I cried out, biting my bottom lip and trying to hold back an orgasm.