One and Only(28)

And then…“Oh God!” she bit out, because she had forgotten that he had hands and that she had breasts. She had forgotten, or maybe she’d never really known, how good hands could feel on breasts.

His hands slid up under her T-shirt, deftly undid the clasp at the back of her bra, then came around front and plucked her nipples, summoning a cry of pleasure from her. She wanted to arch away from and into his touch at the same time, so intense was the sensation. But it was gone as quickly as it began as he ripped his mouth from hers and spread his palms, pressing and kneading, cupping, as if he were trying to get as big a handful of her as possible.

Dear God, she was going to come right here with his hand up her shirt. That seemed, suddenly, not okay, so she lowered her feet to the ground and shoved him away. Or tried to—he grunted, resisting, renewing his assault on her until she managed to say, “I need to get my clothes off.”

She almost regretted her words, because that was all it took. He sprang away from her, and the loss of sensation made her breasts ache, and her vagina…it actually hurt. He whipped off his shirt, and oh God, those tattoos. The idea that she could openly look at them, that she could touch them. Put her mouth on them. He bent over to remove one leg from his pants but paused to look up at her.

“Naked,” he rasped. “I need you naked.”

She stared at him, stunned. His pupils were dilated so there was only a slim ring of blue around them. His breath was ragged, and she could see the thrumming of his pulse in his neck. He wanted her, and he wasn’t trying to hide it. She moaned, and he wasn’t even touching her.

“Please,” he added.

She was always going to obey; she had just been caught momentarily in him, helpless in the tractor beam that was his obvious desire. But the combination of the gruff command followed by the polite entreaty was like a fast-forward switch. She pulled her shirt and already-undone bra off together. She gave a passing thought that she should have started with her jeans because now he was going to see her muffin top, but it was forgotten when he closed his eyes, let his head fall back, and ground out, “Awww, fuuuck.”

The surge of triumph in her chest told her that it was a good “Awww, fuuuck.” So she unzipped her jeans. The sound in the otherwise silent room had him opening his eyes. They latched on to her hands as she pushed her jeans over her hips. His jaw hung open, and feeling drunk with power and as saturated with desire as he appeared to be, she decided to name what she wanted in a way she never had with Felix. “Yes. Fuck. That’s correct.” His eyes whipped up to hers, practically sparking. So, to be clear, she added, “That’s what I want. For you to fuck me.”

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” She wasn’t done taking her jeans off, but he grabbed her and walked her backward to the daybed until the backs of her legs hit it and she sat down. “What should I fuck you with first? My hands or my tongue?” He yanked on the bottoms of her jeans and then slid his hands back up her bare legs. He was coming for her panties, next, she could tell.

“No.” She shook her head, both to illustrate her “no,” but also at herself, because it wasn’t that she didn’t want those things, for him to fuck her with his fingers and tongue. She just didn’t want them as much as she wanted something else. “I want you to fuck me with your cock,” she breathed, and he stopped in the middle of sliding her panties down her legs.

“I don’t have a condom,” he rasped. He worked her panties the rest of the way off. “These are so wet,” he growled.

“What do you mean you don’t have a condom?”

He repeated his earlier move of sliding his hands up her legs, but this time there was nothing to stop him, no barrier or fabric, and when he got to the V of her thighs, he pressed one hand against each and said, “Open for me.” She did, unthinkingly.

“What do you mean you don’t have a condom?” she said again. It was like they were having two different conversations.

He stroked a hand gently across her outer folds. “Oh, shit, baby, you’re so wet.”

“Cameron!” she panted, to try to force him to listen to her but also because even that light, exploratory touch had her arching her hips up off the bed.

“Yes,” he said, taking his hand away now that he was finally listening to her. She wanted to curse herself for making him stop. She wanted to grab his hand and press it back against her body. He stuck out his tongue and licked a quick line straight up from her belly button, between her breasts, and through the notch of her collarbone. It was the single most erotic thing that had ever happened to her. So far. She had a feeling the record might be broken a few times if things continued on like they were. He ended his journey by covering her body with his own, bracing himself on his forearms so she wasn’t bearing all his weight. “It was a bachelor party,” he said when they were nose to nose. “I thought I was going to be hanging out with a bunch of guys all night.”

“But…” she trailed off, aware that she sounded like a whiny child. “I want to have sex.” She had tried to replace the “whiny” with “sultry,” but it wasn’t really working.

“We’re going to,” he said. “We are.”

Then he reversed directions and started heading back down her body, but he stopped at her chest this time and took an aching nipple into his mouth. She cried out from the relief of it, of having his mouth on her. That relief was short-lived, though, because having that part of her soothed only threw into stark relief how much she ached for him between her legs, how empty she felt.

He knew, though, somehow, because as soon as the thought arose, his fingers were there, pressing into her. That was the thing about Cameron. He was aggressive, but responsive. He was utterly in control of their encounter, but he played her so expertly that she wanted to surrender forever.

“How can you be this wet?” he demanded. She lifted her head, suddenly embarrassed. She was about to stammer an apology when he added, “Fuck, I could come just from touching your sweet pussy.”

Then he was gone, and she cried out at the loss of sensation, but before she could get her bearings, he was back with one of her vibrators.

“We really don’t need that,” she whispered, but he ignored her, switching it on. He’d grabbed the Love Egg, and it looked so small, dwarfed by his big hands.

Ignoring her protest, he rolled her onto her side and pulled her flush against him, her back to his chest. He kept one arm around her torso, securing her to him, and pressed open-mouthed kisses on the side of her neck. Then he used his other hand to press the vibrating egg against her clit—but only for a second.

“Ahh!” she shouted. The moment her pelvis, of its own accord, bucked after the retreating egg, the arm that had been slung casually around her tightened like a vise, pulling her back against the solid muscle of his body. Then he pressed his hand—his whole palm—over her, almost as if he was soothing an ache, which in a way, he was. She was surrounded by him. His cock pressed into the crease of her bottom, and his arms a vise securing her to him, his hand covering the front of her sex.

“See? It doesn’t have to be either-or,” he said before tugging on her earlobe with his teeth. And before she could respond, the egg was back, but again, only for a heartbeat.

Again she struggled, though she wasn’t sure why. He was going to do what he was going to do. It didn’t matter what she wanted. Well, that wasn’t right. It was more that he knew what she wanted, before she did even. He knew about things she hadn’t imagined yet.

A few more rounds of teasing with the egg, and she was almost weeping. She was an exposed nerve. It was like he was dismantling her with his touch. She’d given up trying to chase the egg and had gone limp in his arms.

When he realized as much, the arm that had been bound over her chest slid down and he parted her folds. The next time he brought the egg to her clit, he plunged a finger inside her, then a second. His cock pulsed behind her.

“Oh my God!” she moaned. He left the egg on a little longer this time. It was too much. She didn’t want it to be over. “Stop!” she said.

He stopped everything, all at once, immediately. Not only did he stop touching her, he pulled his body, which had been plastered to her back, away.

“Gaahhh!” she nearly yelled, grabbing the egg-free hand and shoving it between her legs. When it was back where it belonged, she clarified, “Stop with the egg. I only want you.”

“You want to come all over my hand?” he practically growled.

She nodded frantically, writhing against him, hating that the end was so close but unable to stop bucking, to stop running to meet the wave that was barreling down on her.

And then she was coming.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jane,” Cameron ground out as she kept coming.

The aftershocks were still rumbling through her when he said, “Next time, I want to feel you come on my face.”

As the orgasm receded, it made way for self-consciousness. And for the awareness that she had basically sat there while he did such wicked, incredible things to her, heedless of his own pleasure. His penis was still tucked behind her bottom, and it was still hard as steel.