Текст книги "Cracks in the Armor"

Автор книги: Helena Hunting

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 3 страниц)

I pushed through the sheets until I was pressed up against him, hoping that would make clear what I wanted. If he clued in, it didn’t register in the kiss. He just kept up that same slow, drugging rhythm. I dug my fingernails into the back of his neck and pressed my hips into his, desperate for more. I could feel him through his boxers, huge and hard and ready, just like the rest of him.

He pulled back. “What’s going on, baby?”

I didn’t like that he wasn’t all up on me anymore, or kissing me. “Why aren’t you touching me?”

“I am touching you.” His thumb brushed back and forth over my cheek and he kissed the end of my nose.

“Not where I want.” I abandoned the back of his neck and snuck a hand between us, palming his erection through his boxers.

“Huh.” He looked vaguely amused. “That’s weird, ’cause you’re touching me right where I want.”

I squeezed. The teasing smile fell and his lip curled into the approximation of a snarl. He grabbed my hand and in a quick move rolled over on top of me. I spread my legs and wrapped them around his waist before he had a chance to stop me.

“I like this even better.” He laced our fingers together and kissed the back of my hand.

When I tried to grab his ass with the other one, he snatched it up as well. On the positive side, it meant his pelvis was in line with mine.

“You should take my shirt off,” I suggested sweetly.

“You think? But then your hands will be free; and who knows what will happen then, what with my magnetic cock and all.” When I huffed, he laughed and then grew serious. “It’s been more than two weeks, Sarah. I have no plans to make this end quickly. I’d rather take my sweet time getting where you want me, if it’s all the same to you.”

“If you’d take your damn boxers off, you’d be exactly where I want you.”

“Oh? So that’s what your problem is?”

He gathered my wrists in one hand, his hold gentle. I could slip free if I wanted. Then he shoved his boxers down and repositioned himself so that hard length rested right where I needed it. He circled his hips, giving me what I craved.

I met his hot stare. “I want to put my hands on you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he released them. Grabbing the hem of my shirt I drew it over my head, then I ran my palms down the solid expanse of his back, stopping at his ass. Pushing down hard, I shifted under him. His erection slid low, close but not quite there.

“I’m not getting in you yet,” he said.

“Please, Chris. I miss you. I just want you.” Usually when I said that kind of thing, in that pleading tone, he folded instantly.

Not this time.

His head dropped and I felt his lips against my shoulder. They parted and the sharp sting of his teeth told me he was fighting the plea. There was something in the heavy weight of his body and the tightness in his muscles that warned me not to push tonight. I stopped resisting and relaxed, absorbing his weight.

“That’s my girl.” He started back up with the kissing. With each stroke of his tongue, his hips pulled back and eased forward, providing a hint of relief and a whole lot of frustration.

He broke away again, his mouth moving down, over my chin, my throat, between my breasts. I groaned as the heat and pressure of his erection disappeared, but he fixed the problem when his hand moved between my thighs. Two fingers slid inside me while his lips closed around a nipple.

I arched under him, fingers diving into his hair, holding him there. He licked and nibbled, his fingers moving with the same indolence. And then his head dipped lower; mouth moving over my stomach until he was finally between my legs. He sucked on the skin at the juncture of my thigh, his eyes lifting to mine as he kissed his way over to my clit. His lips parted and brushed back and forth. I bit back a moan at the silky smooth stroke of his tongue.

His arms wrapped around my thighs and he nuzzled in, getting comfortable. “So fucking good,” he murmured.

“Chris,” I pleaded, fingertips drifting over his cheek to the corner of his mouth.

Lips wet and glistening, he lifted his head and bit my finger. “What’s up, baby?”

“Don’t stop.”

He dropped his head and gave my clit a kiss.

“I missed the way your mouth feels on me.”

“Yeah?”

I groaned when his teeth replaced his tongue. The overwhelming sensation was short-lived, though, because he paused once again to ask, “You miss anything else?”

I opened my eyes and looked down, sensing the vulnerability in his tone. “I missed everything.”

His smile was triumphant as he bent his head. I closed my eyes and let the feel of his mouth unravel me.

As I came down from the luscious high, Chris kissed his way lazily up my body. He expression was gravely serious when he asked, “You good now? Wanna call it quits and go to sleep?”

“Not a chance in hell.” I kissed his neck and wrapped my legs around his hips. I was slick from his mouth and the orgasm. His deep groan had me lifting my hips just to hear more of it. The head of his cock slipped inside me. Chris’s body went taut. I knew it wasn’t going to last, but I hooked my foot around my ankle anyway, securing our position.

He pushed up on one arm, eyes wide. “Whoa, baby, hold up a second.”

He ran a palm down the outside of my thigh until he reached the back of my knee. He gave a gentle tug. I clamped my legs tight against his hips, aware I was no match for his strength. He went a little deeper. His shock turned into something more like panic.

“Shit, Sarah.” His jaw locked and his grip on my leg tightened.

I unhooked them and he broke the connection. I smoothed my hand down his chest, over the solid wall of muscle. “Sorry. I got carried away.”

Chris gave me a dark look and leaned over, fumbling with the drawer on his nightstand. He found the box of condoms and yanked out a row, ripping free a foil square. I grabbed it and tore it open. His full lips parted as I rolled it down his length.

Settling between my thighs, he eased inside.

“This right here,” he said as his hips came flush with mine. “This was what I missed.”

“Mm. Me, too.”

Just as the lead-up had been a slow progression to the first orgasm, this was, too. He kissed me again, penetrating my mouth in time with his deep, slow thrusts.

He pushed up on his forearm and kept his eyes locked on my face as he moved over me, forcing intimacy that had been foreign in the beginning when we started this. But now I liked the way he focused on me so intensely. For all his harshness he was an exceedingly gentle lover.

“Sarah, baby, you gonna come again?” He faltered and lost his rhythm. “Please. For me?”

I was already so close, his words undid me. As soon as I came he stilled, eyes glazing over as his mouth dropped open. A tremor passed through him, every muscle tightening in response.

Before he collapsed, he unlocked my legs from his hips and slid an arm under my back. Then he rolled us to the side so he wouldn’t crush me. Eventually he pulled out, and as always, the vacancy spread all the way to my chest. The comedown after the high of the orgasm made me feel hollow inside.

He picked up the end of my hair and twirled it between his fingers. “I’m really glad you came tonight.”

“Twice,” I joked.

“Because I’m awesome.” He smiled, but something dark lurked under his expression. It was gone before I could pin it down, though.

“Better than awesome.” I kissed him again, but after too short a time, he broke it off with a chaste peck and rolled onto his back. I snuggled into his side and put my head on his chest. “Wake me up before you leave in the morning?”

“Sure thing, sugarlips.”

He yawned and settled against his pillow. I stayed close until my neck started to cramp and my face grew damp from resting on his chest. He was already fast asleep, his breathing deep and even. So typical. Sex was like a sedative for men. I, on the other hand, was wide awake.

Sitting up, I carefully lifted the dead weight of his arm, setting his hand on his pecs. Then I turned on my side to face him, bunching up the soft pillow he’d bought after I complained his were too poofy. I stared at his profile, brutally masculine even in repose. All those hard lines didn’t ease up in the slightest. Except when he smiled. That warm smile of his had been rare lately. The trial over Hayden’s parents’ murder had been hard on Chris, and I didn’t know how to help him through it. He didn’t want to talk about it with me, or anyone, from what I could tell. He was like that, silent in his pain. His hard edges had been part of the attraction, a dangerous allure. I fell asleep staring at the cityscape that covered his arm, wishing I knew how to be as permanent as his body art.

* * *

I woke up alone in Chris’s bed. The blackout curtains he used to keep the daylight from penetrating his room were drawn tight, so I’d slept much longer than I would have if I’d stayed at my own place. The clock on his nightstand told me it was one in the afternoon. He’d left for work more than an hour ago. There was a note on his pillow.

You looked so peaceful drooling on my pillow, I didn’t want to wake you. Stop by the shop if you have time before you go to work tonight.

~Chris

I wiped the corner of my mouth, then smoothed my hand across the pillow. It wasn’t damp. I smiled and dropped back down, enjoying the quiet but not the emptiness of Chris’s bed without him in it. Eventually I got up. I had final assignments to complete, and I’d already wasted the entire morning sleeping. I hit the bathroom and groaned as I got a look at my hair; it had dried all wonky from having gone to bed with it wet. Not to mention the rat’s nest of tangles after being under Chris. I wet my hair and brushed out the knots as best I could, then pulled it back into a ponytail.

Once I was done in the bathroom, I changed out of his shirt and into my own clothes. I made the bed, even though half the time Chris couldn’t be bothered, and honestly, neither could I. I only made the effort if Chris was coming by and planned to get me naked on it later. Messing up a tidy bed with him was fun.

After stuffing everything back into my overnight bag, I went to the kitchen. A Post-it was stuck to the fridge with “OPEN ME” written on it. I smiled and checked inside. Chris was a horrible cook. He turned pasta into mush most of the time, but the man could do two things incredibly well: sandwiches and smoothies.

On the second shelf was the top portion of his blender. Inside were layers of fruit and yogurt and whatever other stuff Chris had put in there to make it taste as awesome as it always did. I set the container on the base. A second Post-It was stuck to the lid. I heeded the “BLEND ME” instructions and hit the puree button, watching the contents swirl together. The end result was deep purple. I poured the concoction into the take-out cup Chris had left for me and went about cleaning up, leaving everything in the drying rack on the counter.

As I sipped the smoothie my gaze drifted to the right, where I’d left his apartment key last night. It was still there.

I picked it up, flipping it between my fingers. Chris never asked for it back, but he never told me to keep it, either. So I put it down for him to see, wondering if one day there’d be a Post-it saying “KEEP ME” attached to it. Which was silly, because it wasn’t something I should care about.

But I did. I wanted that key on my chain.

And that said a lot about my feelings for Chris. He was everything I wanted, but I was too scared to get close. If that happened, he’d let me down eventually—just like everyone else did.