Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Anna

Feeling uncharacteristically bold, I press up on my toes and kiss Troy. I can't quite reach his mouth, but I make contact with his jaw, smooth like he shaved not long before coming over. I move my lips lower, pressing a kiss to the pulse hammering in his throat, and I feel a surge of triumph at the thought that I'm the one making his heart race.

I'm self-aware enough to realize I'm not some kind of vixen or sultry temptress. At best, I'm the girl next door. Quiet, shy, a little nerdy with my more solitary interests in things like knitting and reading. Though I have to admit that having Troy over for dinner beats eating in front of my latest binge watch followed by knitting for the rest of the evening until it's time to get ready for bed.

A sigh rumbles in his chest. "This is my kind of after dinner activity," he murmurs, which makes me laugh lightly until he cuts off the sound by covering my lips with his.

God, I love his kisses.

What we did in my bedroom last time was amazing, but I almost feel like I could drown in just his kisses and be happy.

Almost .

The longer we kiss, the more of him I need, and I'm wrapping my arms around his neck, using my grip on him to help me stay on my toes to make kissing him more comfortable.

Then his hands stray from my waist and hips down past my ass to my thighs, and with a quick jerk, he lifts me off the ground.

I squeak in surprise, the sound muffled by our kiss, but it's enough to make him smile, and his lips curving against mine ends our kiss. We're both grinning like idiots, our faces still pressed together, and he eases me onto the counter.

Moving his face back a few inches, he smooths my hair out of my face with one hand, his smile full of warmth and affection. Then he dips his head and claims my lips once more, grunting with satisfaction. "Much better," he murmurs against my mouth, and I chuckle again.

Soon, all thoughts of laughter are obliterated by his lips moving against mine, his tongue in my mouth, and oh. Oh. When he yanks my ass to the edge of the counter and grinds into my center, I'm filled with naked, aching want .

I want Troy. So bad.

I squirm against him, needing more contact. More friction. Just more .

My hands slide under his shirt, needing his skin, all smooth and soft over firm muscle. What in the world is someone like him doing with someone like me? Of all people, we're not a pairing I ever would've guessed.

But I'm smart enough to keep that thought to myself, and instead I'll enjoy this fling—this moment—for however long it lasts.

Still grinding against me, his hands release me, and I open my eyes in time to see him remove his shirt, tossing it to the floor somewhere. Normally, I'd hate that, but I'm so happy to see him shirtless that I don't care at all.

I run my hands up his sides, over his pecs, mesmerized by the sight of my hands on his skin, the dusting of hair across his chest, his small brown nipples that harden under my touch, the silky treasure trail that starts at his belly button and leads to the hard cock pressing against me, straining against the soft twill of his shorts.

God, I want … everything.

"I love your hands on me," he whispers, sounding almost tortured.

I hum, pleased. "I love your hands on me, too."

At that, he slides his hands under my knees, spreading my legs more and jerking me even harder against him. My skirt rides up, splitting apart so high it's almost indecent.

Hell, it is indecent—the way he's grinding against me, the thin fabric of my panties the only barrier between me and the outside world.

I clutch his arms, my fingers digging into his biceps, and he smiles down at me, but there's nothing gentle about this smile now. It's all wicked pleasure as he grinds into me. "How about that? Do you like that?"

"God, yes," I breathe. "More."

" Fuuuck ." God, the sound of that growl coming from him is almost enough to undo me right here. He kisses me, first my mouth, then my cheek, my jaw, the spot beneath my ear. I tilt my head, letting him have access to whatever he wants. He tugs at the neck of my shirt, exposing as much skin as he can, his lips and teeth and tongue mapping their way over whatever he can reach.

"I want you so bad," he mumbles. "I want to taste you. Can I taste you?"

I'm nodding eagerly. "Yes, yes, yes. Me too. I want you too. Please."

But he's lowering, his body moving out of my reach, and at first I'm confused, but then he tosses my skirt up and out of his way, his hands bracing my thighs, pushing them open and pressing his face to my center, his mouth hot as he kisses the stretchy, silky fabric covering me.

His eyes meet mine when he pulls back, one finger tracing the edge of my panties where it barely covers my mound. Then he tugs it aside, his gaze shifting to what he's uncovered.

Meeting my eyes again, he leans in and licks me slowly.

"Jesus," I gasp, the contact shocking despite expecting it. His tongue wet and warm and soft and firm all at once.

Grinning at my reaction, he does it again, and this time my hips buck. I can't help it. His touch is electric.

His smile pulls wider, and he finally drops his gaze as he sets to work in earnest. When he said he wanted to taste me, I originally just thought he meant my skin. But this … sweet baby Jesus in the manger, he knows what he's doing with his tongue.

I try to lean back, but my head bumps into the cabinet. I leave it there, though, bracing myself with one hand behind me, the other searching for purchase somewhere as he works his magic with his tongue, moving between the edge of the counter, the cabinet behind me, and my own hair, but nowhere is what I need. The sight of him kneeling between my pale spread thighs framed by the soft fabric of my skirt is so erotic I could nearly combust from the visual alone. But combined with the sensation. Jesus.

"I can't—oh, god. I—I—I?—"

"I got you," he murmurs, the brief break so he can speak granting me a momentary reprieve. He reaches up, his fingers finding mine, and I clutch his hand, finally finding the anchor I need.

He pets me with his other fingers, his blue eyes holding mine, then he sets to work again. And for some reason that break made me even more sensitive. My back bows when his tongue finds my clit, and when he sinks a finger inside me …

"Oh fuck. Oh Jesus." Filthy words fall from my lips, and if I were in my right mind, I'd be shocked at myself.

But I'm not, because Troy is driving me crazy with his lips and tongue and fingers, and I'm about to—"I'm—I'm—I'm coming ."

And I do. Dear god, I do. My legs jerk, straightening, my hips bucking, my whole body convulsing as white lightning electrifies me from the inside out, the detonation centered where his mouth makes contact with me.

He stays with me as I ride out my orgasm, slowing as I come down, easing his fingers from me and petting the inside of my thigh, placing a kiss on the other thigh and sliding my panties back in place, never releasing his hold on my hand.

"Oh my god," I breathe, slumping on the counter, only his presence in front of me keeping me from sliding to the floor in a boneless heap.

He lets out a self-satisfied chuckle, standing and gathering me into his arms. "You're beautiful," he whispers, burying his face in my shoulder and pressing a kiss to my neck. "And delicious."

I'm grateful my face is pressed into his shoulder because it's flaming at that compliment. "Um, thanks?"

He chuckles again, pulling back and easing me to my feet, my body still pressed against his. Which makes me extremely cognizant of the fact that I'm the only one who's currently satisfied.

I slide my hand down to his waist, but hesitate, wanting to touch, but suddenly shy in the aftermath of my own orgasm—which I'm aware is also ridiculous considering where he just had his mouth, but nevertheless, here we are. "Can I … should I …?"

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," he assures me, pressing his lips to the top of my head.

"I want to," I whisper, my confidence paradoxically returning at his reassurance. "I want you ."

He groans. "I want you too."

Taking him by the hand, I lead him to my room, stopping next to the bed and turning to face him. "Um, right. Do you have … did you bring …" Forcing a deep breath, I meet his eyes. "I don't have any condoms. Do you?"

A crooked smile curves his lips. "I worried it'd be presumptuous, but at the same time, I wanted to be prepared just in case. So, yeah. I hit the pharmacy on the way here." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a packet.

Smiling, I pluck it out of his hand, toss it on the bed, and reach for him.

He lets out a happy, rumbling sound, his hand cupping my jaw as he kisses me. He tastes a little tangy—like me , I realize—but then I'm swept up in his kiss, his hands, his body, and I don't care.

My fingers fumble with the button of his shorts, and he takes over, making quick work of undoing them and shoving them down. Then he starts pulling up my shirt, breaking off our kiss so he can strip it off me, his eyes hungry as they rake over me in my bra and skirt. "Take it off," he commands, voice gruff. "I need to see you. All of you."

I reach behind me to unhook my bra, my gaze straying to his tented boxers. "You too."

Grinning, he happily complies, then reaches for the tie of my skirt, undoing it with one quick tug. The outer layer falls, but the tie threaded through holds the other part in place until he hooks a finger in the waistband and slides it free. It lands at my feet, and then he's pulling me to him again, his hard cock pressing into my belly as he kisses me.

Reaching between us, I wrap my hand around it, sliding up and down slowly, but using the pressure he showed me he liked before.

He groans. "Christ. I'm not going to last long if you keep doing that."

When I grin up at him, he chuckles, kisses me again, then pulls me onto the bed, where he tugs my panties off, tossing them over his shoulder theatrically and grinning at my giggles.

He settles next to me, his hand trailing over my body, plumping my breasts so he can suck on my nipples, then down between my thighs where he touches me gently, dipping a finger inside me and using my juices to rub lazy circles over my clit.

I want to touch him too, but at this angle, with his mouth attached to my nipple, I can't reach him. So I content myself with touching him wherever I can reach—running my fingers through his hair, down his shoulder, his arm, his side.

He groans at my touch like just the feel of my fingers on his skin is enough to get him going. The sound vibrates against my skin, and he sucks harder on my nipple, sending zings of pleasure to my clit, making me arch and press into his hand.

When he releases my nipple, he captures my lips for a moment before looking down at me, his eyes dark and fathomless as the depths of the ocean. "Are you ready?" His voice is barely more than a whisper, rough with need. "I want you to be ready for me."

"God, yes," I moan. "I'm so beyond ready, I'm dying."

His teeth flash in an almost feral smile. "Good. Me too."