Lead and Follow(60)

Hiding his face against her soft hair did nothing but reawaken temptation. She was everything tender. Good. The light to carry him home. She challenged him in new ways every moment.

Although he’d be a lesser man without her, he was lost in this limbo between friends and lovers, between partners and goodbye.

She barely wiggled when he brushed the hair back from her temple and ears. From the side, her mouth was pillowed perfection. He loved the way she kissed, as if she invested every molecule in making him feel good.

Long, slow touches traced the arches and dips and hollows of her body. Her shoulder, where he draped his hands at turns. Her waist, which he held when lifting her over his head. Her hips—those lovely, devilish hips. Tonight every inch of her felt different under his eager hands.

They’d been transformed. The parts and whole, together and separated again. Just different enough that they didn’t fit anymore.

She woke slowly. The sheet tangled around her feet was shoved down in languorous moves. She lifted her arm, hooking behind his head where he nuzzled her neck. “Mmm. I like that.”

He chuckled against her skin. “Have I found the key to waking you in a pleasant mood?”

She uncoiled, pressing her shoulders back against his chest. “Want to give it a shot?”

He loved the hollow between her breasts, the resilient push of her stomach. She was open to him wherever he touched. So softly accommodating, even when he dipped between her thighs to the dampness of her pussy. She sighed and lifted her knee to give him better access. Each lazy dawn swirl of his fingers made her more lush, more ready for him. He spread wetness along her folds and caught her clit between two knuckles. Tender pinches earned him the quiet moan he loved so much.

Pulsing with sharp arousal, his cock was notched along the cleft of her ass. He thrust against her softness. She reached backward, her nails biting his hip with a little sting. He hissed as the sting all worked together, pulling him out of the dreamy, foggy place that was so much safer.

He couldn’t stop licking her neck, grazing his teeth over her shoulders. Contact. He craved contact with her. How had he lasted through those endless, torturous months after her injury? Quiet apartment. Hands empty. He shuddered with the memory. Fumbling in the dark, he found a lone condom in the nightstand drawer and rolled it on.

She’d thrown an arm over her head and flipped onto her back. The dark meant he couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but they glinted in a stray beam of light through the window. She extended a hand.

He laced their fingers together and held them up next to her head. The mattress gave little resistance. Their hands, wound together on the white sheet… He swallowed hard. The moment probably called for words, but he had none. No plans either. Just a hope.

Lizzie tugged him near. Her lips petted his with tiny sips. Small blessings, until he needed more. Surging, he took her mouth at the same time he took her body.

Pressed flat, his cock deep in the scalding warmth of her pussy, Dima knew. He knew how much he’d do for this woman, if she could bring herself to ask.

Because he loved her. More than anything in his life.

That didn’t mean he could have her.

This moment was sex. Lovely, perfect sex filled with soft words and kisses and hands that traced cold thrills down his skin. It was what he wanted.

It wasn’t what he needed.

His hips worked steadily, thrusting into her. He framed her face in his hands. Tried to look into her eyes. She’d drifted away, her eyes half-closed and cloudy, her lips shaped into an absent smile.

He stroked damp hair back from her cheek. “Where are you, little one?” he said, as quiet as a spring breeze.

She sighed happily. “Here with you.”

“And who am I?”

Her ankles lifted behind his ass, locking over him. Heels dug deep into his cheeks and gently parted that tender skin. Sensation rocked through his bones. Tingles gathered at the base of his balls. More and hotter and harder. He wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer, but he needed an answer.

He tangled a handful of her hair, pulled her head back. The darkness tempted him. He could let loose so much, say too much. So he held back, kept his movements steady but slow. Those beautiful eyes flashed open.

“Who am I?” he repeated.

“Dima mine,” she whispered. She stretched her hands above her head. Her breasts arched upwards, begging his mouth. She was so beautiful, and he wanted to feast on that singular beauty, but he also needed her hands on him. Her touch. Her acceptance. He didn’t know how to say that he longed to be her choice. “My partner. My best friend. My rock. My calm.” The words blurred into a dizzy chant that went straight to his head.