Page 38 of Tears of Gold

When he does, his eyes fall to my legs, to the swirl of ink and flashes of pale skin. One of his shirts is unbuttoned down my chest and my knickers are extra small. “Well if I’d known I’d be coming home to this, I would have left an hour ago.”

“You can always come home early to this.” I’m desperate for him. Our time together this week has been snatched and brief and I want to start the weekend off on the right note. Just us. Alone.

His steps are quick as he crosses the room, dropping to his knees in front of the sofa; his hands rest on my thighs, warm despite the chill outside. Leaning forward, he kisses my lips and my hands automatically find their way into his hair. His tongue is all mint and fresh as it slides into my mouth with bold strokes. My body flickers with heat, warming and liquifying with the intensity of his kiss. He breaks away, his eyes burning. “What’s for dinner?”

With a smile I stretch back on the sofa and lift my hands above my head. His gaze lingers on the trail of exposed skin between the two sides of the unbuttoned shirt, briefly landing on the glass heart I had created just for him. His hands settle on my knees pulling me down, so I slide further along the cushion of the sofa.

“I’m suddenly ravenous.” His voice does that low rumble that makes my knickers damp.

Reaching up from his knees, he plants a kiss on my mouth and then slowly trails his lips down my throat, along the valley of my breasts, across the glass heart and down to my belly button. I know where he’s heading, and I want it so bad. I shift my hips so he can pull off my knickers and then wait for his hands. They slide under my arse, lifting me slightly off the sofa and his lips skim across my mound. He inhales and sighs before his tongue flicks out and steadily runs across my clit. Arching, I lift myself higher and his tongue runs back, slow and steady. Oh God, that’s delicious. I moan and reach for his hair. I want more.

Torturously slow, he keeps licking but what I want is his teeth and for his tongue to do that thing where it circles and dives and drives me crazy. When he pulls away, I groan in frustration. “Miss Hitchin, were you sitting here undressed just so I’d do this to you?”

Gah, his voice.

“Maybe.” I push my hips higher, but he goes back to teasing with light skims of his lips.

“Have you been thinking about it all day?”

This is torment. “All fucking day.” His sweeps hard again, and I gasp.

I’m pretty close to begging but I don’t need to. His mouth lands on me hard, his teeth surrounding my clit as he sucks it into his mouth. Uncontrollable shivers flood my skin. Two fingers slide deep within me as his mouth continues its assault: sucking, rolling, pulling until I’m clawing the sofa, my hips lifting up and down, smashing myself closer to his face.

“Fuck, Elijah!” I screech as he sucks extra hard and then slips his tongue down to take the place of his fingers, flicking it inside me.

That’s it, I’m done. My orgasm is hard, fast, and consuming. It washes over me in endless waves as his tongue still presses into deep places and his thumb pushes against the puckered space of my arse. When my shuddering subsides, he keeps his mouth still on my core, not letting up for one moment as he strips off his shirt and unbuckles his belt. Pulling me further off the edge of the sofa, he raises up and meets my gaze, smirking when he sees the state I’m in. Then he pushes inside me and I groan so loud it echoes around the whole house. Every nerve ending is heightened and I fling my hands back in ecstasy. He fills me deep, pushing in hard, his hands skimming along my exposed breasts, his fingers running circles around my pebbled nipples. His rhythm is steady and deep, his hips circling as he takes me as far as he can. He moans and shudders and it makes another wave build up from my toes and I widen my legs to let him even closer.

“God, Faith.” His fingers claw at my skin, his pace relentless. I give in, unable to hold my orgasm back. “Scream my name,” he whispers, and I do, pulling him over the edge with me.

He chuckles as he collapses on top of me and I kiss the top of his head.

“What?” I can’t catch my breath.

“I promise I can make it longer than three minutes.”

I giggle and wiggle back properly onto the sofa, pulling him after me. “I’m not complaining, you can take me to the big O twice in minutes any time you like.”

He pulls me close. “Any time, but is there any chance of dinner first? I’m starving.”

I lift an eyebrow. “But you just ate so well.”

“You dirty little minx.”

“Why aren’t you eating?” He looks pointedly at my salad while I grimace at it with unveiled distaste.

“I just don’t fancy it. Is yours okay?”

“Delicious, can I just say you are mighty skilled at opening a bag of salad and chopping up tomatoes.”

“Just be glad there was a bag of salad to open. Miss Beesley ordered in a shop for us.”

He chews on his salad and watches me. I stick a fork into a lamb's leaf just so he won’t moan. “How are you getting on?”

“Fine, I think.” I chew endlessly. How long does it take for one piece of lettuce to disappear? “She seems a bit unsure. I guess after having such an unusual arrangement with Peter it must be odd for her to try to fit in with me here. I think we will be okay.”

Smiling, he reaches for my hand and squeezes my fingers tight. “What else did you do? I can see you’ve left the packing boxes for us to tackle together.”

I snort and stick my tongue out. “I am not your bitch. We can do jobs like that together.”