A shock wave of pleasure rocked her at the request. Her face grew hotter, her need for him more intense. She dipped her index finger between her legs and then circled it around one breast.
He growled as he leaned into her, sucking her own juices from her hard nipple. She cried out at the sensation, then he pulled back just as quickly, trailing a strong, calloused finger from her sternum to her belly. “Now here. Paint yourself here.”
She nodded quickly, wanting to keep touching herself, to rub faster and harder, to spread her legs and cry out. But she resisted, instead following his artistic direction to spread the evidence of her desire in a line from her belly to her breasts. Then he dived in for another long, lingering slide of his tongue across her skin.
“You’re killing me.”
He tucked his face in the crook of her neck, rubbing his jaw against her shoulder and finding her ear so he could whisper, “Paint yourself. One more time. For me.”
“Where?” she said in a ragged breath, unsure where her voice was even coming from anymore. How she was forming words. Maybe she was powered solely by want.
“Here.” He drew a line from her neck to the hollow of her throat.
She slid her fingers back between her legs where she was so wet now she could probably have painted her entire body for him. She did as asked, and then shuddered at the feel of his tongue retracing the same path. He moaned deeply as he tasted her, murmuring, “So good. So fucking good.” Then his lips brushed the hollow of her throat, a soft kiss, but full of heat as he sucked the last remaining traces.
“Now show me how you fuck yourself.”
Tension swelled inside her. Her hand returned to between her legs, and she expertly moved her fingers as he held on to her hips, letting her lean back and let go.
“Come for me, Megan. Let me watch you get off.”
His words drove her on, and soon she felt her belly tighten, once, twice, three times, and her legs were shaking, and a massive wave slammed into her as he pushed her long hair away from her face and breathed into her neck. “Come for me on your hand.”
That did it. She shattered, blinding waves of pleasure flooding her body, her bones, and her skin. Every part of her was alive and pulsing, from a runaway orgasm that didn’t stop. It sped through, spilling into every corner of her body, until finally she could open her eyes and look at Becker. His lips were parted and he grasped her wrist, bringing her fingers to his mouth, sucking off the taste of her until he’d licked every last drop. His dark eyes were heated, and hungry, as if he’d never consumed anything he wanted this much before.
When she finally started to come down from the high, she didn’t know what to say, how to act. But he did.
“We need to go. If we stay here any longer, I will tear your clothes off, and the last thing I want is for you to return home naked.”
Chapter Fourteen
The house wasn’t far from the river. They were both quiet as they slid into his truck, shut the doors, and cruised away from the hiking trails, heading onto the curvy road that led back into Hidden Oaks. The silence was thick, clinging to them like a fine film of dust. They both knew it was time to talk. It was a moment for manning up. A heady kiss in the woods after one night together could be written off as a onetime relapse. Even a few naughty texts were nothing to get all riled up about.
However, what happened today had to be addressed. He’d let it go too far. He’d been driven solely by his desire for her, abandoning all sense of right and wrong. And in so doing, they’d reached a crossroads. He didn’t know where they were going or where he wanted to go. But he knew this—neither one of them seemed to have a wink of interest in stopping.
He was about to speak when she went first.
“I’d like to say that we can’t keep doing this, but I think we’ve established we are doing this,” she offered, and her tone was both serious and wry. A clear-cut acknowledgment of what was transpiring between them.
Becker kept his eyes on the road. He wished they weren’t in agreement. He wished they weren’t so in sync. He wished he could give her everything she deserved. He wished he’d never met her. Except, he didn’t wish that at all. “Saying we should stop is pointless, since we won’t? Or we can’t?”
“Both. It seems we’re still on plan A. We’re doing what we planned to do after we first slept together.”
“And then what we said we weren’t going to do,” he added. “Plan B.”
“Exactly. But we’re not following the new plan.”
“Which means all we’re doing is skirting the line. Saying we’re not getting involved, then doing it anyway.”