Rhythm by Marie Lipscomb
Chapter Ten
Beth
The hunger in his eyes melts her. He leans into her touch, bowing his head a little, bringing those beautiful lips closer to her. The way he yields to her, putting her fully in control, makes her feel like an enchantress. This big, burly man quivers as she touches him.
“Is this okay?” she asks, hoping she isn’t misreading anxiety as excitement.
He simply nods. His lips part as he looks at her, and her heart leaps at the pressure of his hand on her hip, his thumb brushing against the waistband of her jeans. His touch is so feathery, so tentative, it tickles, and it takes all her self-control not to wriggle from him.
The space between them closes, and at last she presses her bare skin to his. It takes her breath away; his vast, strong body held against her. He’s gentle, keeping himself in check as he trails his hands around the curve of her hips, urging her closer.
Her hands skim across his torso, following the curve of his belly, up to the swell of his chest. She can’t decide which part of him she wants to touch most. All of him. She wants all of him.
She reaches up, tangles her fingers in his hair and pulls him to her, pausing to savor the sensation of his lips parted so close to hers.
His breath blows warm against her mouth.
The hesitation is delicious agony, but she can’t hold off any more. She rises on her tiptoes to meet him, sinking through the softness of his beard and into the warmth and gentleness of his lips. His kiss is slow, hesitant, his lips edging over hers, as though he’s afraid to let go completely.
Her arms drop to his shoulders as she slides her tongue between his lips, and his groan resonates through her chest. He stumbles back, pulling her with him as he lowers himself onto the couch, and she’s practically giddy as she straddles those thick thighs, the folds of the towel rumpling beneath her.
His hands are in her hair, tangled possessively as though he knows perfectly well she’s smitten. He could ask anything of her and she’d do it.
It’s only when his hands drop lower, fumbling with the clasp of her bra that he stops kissing her, and his breathless voice growls through the flickering light.
His eyes widen. “Sorry. I got carried away.”
“Don’t be.” She presses closer to him, kissing a trail down his neck. “I want you.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods. “I’ve thought about it since the first moment I saw you. I touched myself thinking of you this morning.”
Something switches in him, a shift in gear which snatches the breath from her lungs, propelling them headlong into each other. Finn kisses like he drums: hard, relentless, savage. His teeth sink into her bottom lip, and his fingers dig into her back with a ferocity which is both painful and oh-so-fucking-good.
The peace they found in each other’s company shatters, making way for their passion. He lifts her onto her feet, tugging down her jeans as he kisses her stomach, the bristles of his beard brushing against her as she runs her fingers through his hair.
She laughs a little at the absurdity of it, at the time they wasted hating each other, when this is far, far more satisfying. Reaching behind her, she unhooks her bra and pulls it away. Even before it lands on the ground his lips are around her nipple, his hands grasping, palming the softness of her breasts.
“I want to taste you.” His voice is thick and dark with desire.
Beth can only nod as her throat clenches. She wants him, desperately.
“Lie down,” he whispers, his eyes fixed on her breasts as his breath shudders. “On your stomach.”
She doesn’t question him. The anticipation of what he has in mind sends her heart racing as she lies on the couch in her underwear. Time without his touch stretches on forever. She’s cold without him, craving him, skin tingling with the need to feel him again.
At last, he caves to her unspoken need. He caresses her back in broad strokes, his big hands warm and rough against her smooth skin. She moans as his lips follow, kissing a trail along her spine, soft and hot, lingering, working his way up to her shoulders. And when he pushes her hair to the side and grazes his teeth against the back of her neck, it awakens something inside her; a desire to supplicate, to be dominated. The soft curve of his belly presses against the small of her back, and he rests his weight on one arm, wrapping it around the front of her shoulders, cupping her chin in his hand as his thumb teases her lips.
Her body tingles as he bites the nape of her neck, desire pooling between her thighs. His thumb follows the curve of her lower lip, and the urge to pull it into her mouth overwhelms her. She closes her eyes, sucking on his thumb, her tongue stroking its length, as his other hand inches lower, down her back, over the curve of her ass. He groans as his fingers slide across the slickened skin of her upper thighs.
“You’re so wet,” he growls against the back of her neck.
She can feel it, wet and aching. She arches her back, lifting her ass toward him, parting her thighs even more, silently begging for him to touch her as her tongue caresses his thumb.