Page 99 of Dream House
I press another kiss along her neck. Being here, this close to her, feels like a gift, and I want to give back. Seeking her mouth again, I kiss her deep. Yes, this is a gift. As hidden and hard-won as a Red Beryl in Wildhorse Springs, Utah. Rare and precious. Breath-taking.
Stella angles the kiss and moves to my jaw. Her kisses are the sweetest touch. Her lips come to my ear.
“In case you’re wondering, this is menottelling you to stop.”
My chuckle is so rough with arousal, I barely recognize it. “I like it.”
She kisses my cheek. “I likeyou.”
My heart squeezes. It’s almost painful. And it’s also maybe the best feeling I’ve ever had.
“Oh, Stella.”
I draw back and look down at her again. It means something. Way more than I could have guessed. Because I know she didn’t like me at first. Didn’t want me here.
But I’ve wanted her to like me from the moment my eyes landed on her. I have wanted to be allowed this close.
“Baby, I like you, too.”
Compared to what I feel and what her words mean to me—unsought, freely given—my words don’t feel like enough. And the wish to give more swells inside me so big it threatens to crack my ribs.
Now that our eyes are locked, I’m not looking away. And I don’t miss the fluttering of her lashes as I slip my hand into her panties.
My fingertips brush against damp curls, and I nearly lose it. “God, Stella.” When she rolls her hips and presses herself against my touch, I moan.
Fuck, that’s hot.
I edge lower. Slick softness and heat meet my fingers, and Stella’s eyelids dip. I know the moment my middle finger crests her clit. All at once, her head tips back and her chest rises.
“Jesus, Lark,” she rasps. Her fingers sink into the hair at the back of my head, and she grabs a handful.
I’m the one making her feel like this. She’s saying my name, and I love it.
I want to spend days figuring out what she likes. Where she aches to be kissed. What makes her lose control. Maybe I’ve rushed where I should have lingered, but I’m not regretting the fact that I’m gliding the pads of my middle and ring fingers over the stem of her clit, making her breath come short.
Her eyes close, and I smother another moan when she bites her bottom lip.
“God, you’re beautiful.”
Her eyes open, this time with effort, and she focuses on me. The look in her eyes grips me. It’s this look of surprised recognition that matches exactly what I feel.
I want to be inside her.
Hell, I want to be all in, but I know that can’t happen. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
So I slip these two fingers inside and straddle her clit with my index and thumb. One pump inside her silken heat and her hips come off the sofa.
“Holy—” she utters, fisting my hair tighter. The sweet sting of it is pure dopamine.
Her thighs clench against my hand, and I want to kiss them. Bite them. Instead, I take her right breast again, and when I suck, her pussy squeezes my fingers. My mind is hot coconut oil. Clear, melted liquid.
But the squeeze drives us both to a different rhythm. Faster. Deeper.
I can’t get close enough to her. I want more. I want everything. And wanting her kiss, I leave her breast for her mouth, and her welcoming kiss is rough and hungry.
We kiss, tongues tangling, almost frantic. I pump. She arches. Her breasts press against my chest. Her right calf strains between both of mine. I clamp harder, wanting her to feel she’s held.
I’m not going anywhere.
