Page 52 of Like You Want It

CHAPTER TEN

CARLY

He isn’t kissing me back.

The confident, almost arrogant,so-certain-he-wanted-me, version of myself that I just put on display for him starts to back pedal. Decides to make a hasty retreat.

I pull back, my hand covering my mouth.

“Well,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, my face blushing, “that didn’t work out the way I’d pla…”

He steps into me, his hands coming to both sides of my face as he slams his mouth onto mine. His tongue sweeps out and presses into my mouth, with purpose, seeking something that I desperately want him to find.

This,I want to say to him.This is you finally treating this like you want it.

Before I can do anything else, his hands come down and grip my thighs, lifting me up so I can wrap my legs tightly around his waist. And then he’s stalking into my apartment, kicking the door closed and pressing me up against the wall in the kitchen with the corkboard where I hang my plethora of to go menus and Christmas cards that never seem to get thrown away. Seriously, there’s stuff from 2009 on there. I wasn’t even an adult in 2009.

I cry out slightly when he pushes me against it, and he moves a foot to the right, trying again on the empty wall where I’m less likely to get stabbed by a rogue pushpin.

“Better,” I whisper as his mouth trails down my neck, then licks a line from below my ear, down my neck, and kisses across my collarbone. “Much better.”

I close my eyes and smile as he begins to worship my body. My hands remain gripped at his shoulders, giving me the leverage I need to lift slightly and rotate my hips against the thickness pressed hard against my center.

As amazing as this is, I don’t like not having use of my hands to touch and feel and grip the delicious places on his body that I want to explore. So I drop my legs, and Fin slowly sets me down on the tile. Then my hand is trailing down over the middle of him, down past his belt to where I hope he aches for me.

His mouth stays on my neck, and his hand traces idly along the edge of my panties, sneaking under to stroke the soft skin of my upper thigh, but staying firmly near my hips and away from where I want him most.

“I want you.” I whisper, then I stroke him firmly through his jeans until I hear him groan. “I want you so deep inside me that you fuck me right off the bed.”

“God, yes,” he says on a hiss. “Talk dirty to me like that. Say anything you want but just keep talking.” He kisses me again, then begins to unbutton his shirt. “It makes me so hard.”

He yanks his shirt off, and my eyes feast on all of his muscles, the result of years of striving to be the perfect machine. It’s so hot, and I let my hands enjoy their new treasure, trailing lightly over his abs, digging into his pecs, tracing along the art on his skin.

But I only get a few seconds, not even enough time to take it all in, before his hands are gripping my shirt at the base and yanking it over my head, exposing the breasts and nipples that used to make me self conscious. I’m so glad I don’t listen to that younger, more insecure version of myself anymore. Because my breasts might be small and my nipples large, but they’re full and creamy and soft and give me so much pleasure.

He doesn’t play any games, just grabs one in each hand, presses them together, and sets his face into the crease between them. And then he licks and kisses and rubs himself over every inch.

I shift around, my center growing slick.

“Suck on my nipples,” I moan. “Please. I love that.”

“Oh I can do that,” he says, latching on to one and running his tongue against the tip, the little nub that’s hard and desperate for his attention. “I love these nipples,” he says.

“My ex said they were too big,” I say before I can stop my mouth from sharing. Then I want to kick myself. Stupid. Don’t say that shit.

But he just pulls his head back and glares at me.

“But I think they’re perfect,” I add on.

He gives me a nod of approval at the quick clarification, then quickly heads to the other, severely neglected breast, and lathers that nipple with his tongue, sucking hard then tracing it lightly at the tip.

“Fuck,” I whisper. “I might be able to come just from this.”

His groan is muffled against my skin, but I smile, knowing he’s just as turned on as I am.

“Please suck harder,” I rasp, my hand slipping into his jeans and beginning to stroke the hot cock that I want buried inside of me.

“Carly,” he groans. “I need us both naked.”