Page 70 of Untouchable

She moaned into his mouth, in pleasure… and because it was just so wrong.

This time as he kissed her, he slid his hands under her top, pushing it up until he’d exposed the white lace bra she was wearing.

His lips were brushing against hers, his tongue playing and stroking, slowly and hungrily. He was palming her breasts over her bra, and she arched up into his hands.

He continued for a long time, caressing and kissing her body, moving lower until she finally stopped him from bringing his mouth to her groin. She drew him back up until he put on a condom and slid his cock inside her, adjusting her legs so she would wrapped them around his middle.

He was breathing heavily as he pumped into her for a few minutes. So was she. Occasionally he leaned down to kiss her again.

Kelly lay under him, wishing she could distance herself the way she used to all the time. With Caleb. With all the other nameless men she had fucked.

She couldn’t. Not really. She knew this was Caleb. Knew she hated him. And understood him. And wanted him anyway.

And all of it could exist inside her heart at the same time.

“Fuck,” Caleb finally breathed out, his body clenched, his arms shaking a little, his pelvis jerking in tiny, involuntary thrusts inside her.

Something tight was knotting up in her chest at his reactions, and she felt flooded with heat and confusion.

This was different than the times they’d fucked before, and not just because Caleb seemed to be losing it.

“Caleb,” she breathed, pumping her hips against the weight of his body. “Caleb, please.”

With a muffled groan, he started thrusting again. Beginning slowly but quickly building up to a rapid, jerky rhythm again.

She could feel an orgasm swelling up below her belly, but it was still just the beginnings. The friction of his hard length as it slid slickly within her wet channel sent tingles out from their joining. And the shaking of the sofa, the sound of the leather, and the feel of its rubbing against her bare skin all seemed strangely concrete and visceral—primitive on the most basic level.

Caleb’s motion sped up until he was driving into her fiercely, and the slapping of their skin mingled with their panting and the squeaking of the sofa. But then he stopped, his eyes shut and his head jerked away from her.

“Caleb?” she gasped, her body shaking beneath him from more things than she could process. She realized that she was digging the fingers of one hand into the sinews of his neck and so she forced herself to relax her grip. Instead, she clung desperately to the arm of the sofa behind her head.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t move. But he was breathing in heavy rasps, and his body was wet with perspiration under his clothes.

“Caleb,” she said again, this time her voice was an obvious plea. “Caleb, please.”

“Kelly,” he gritted out, his jaw clenched and his eyes almost desperate when he opened them. “Can you”—he paused to breathe—“I don’t know if I?—”

Kelly tightened her legs and inner muscles around him in a way that made him groan. He tried to draw his pelvis away, sliding his cock out of her body, but her legs around him restricted his movement.

“Kelly,” he said thickly, his breath, his voice, wafting over the damp skin of her cheek.

She didn’t know why she wasn’t faking an orgasm the way she had before. But for some reason she couldn’t seem to manage it now. Couldn’t tense up her body. Couldn’t release it in shudders and whimpers. She didn’t want to.

It felt like a lie.

“Maybe,” she answered hoarsely. “But it would take too long. I’m good.”

Caleb released a guttural sound and jerked a final times.

Then he came—and all the coiled tension in his hard, heated body freed itself with a throbbing, shaking release.

She could feel his climax throughout her own body, and it made the ache in her throat, in her chest, and between her legs even deeper, even more insistent.

She was as leveled as she’d been from her most powerful orgasms, and she didn’t even know why.

Caleb had collapsed over her, his warm, sated weight pressing her into the leather of the sofa. His face was buried in her hair at the crook between her neck and shoulder. He was breathing rapidly, and she could feel his body relax and grow almost pliant in the silence.

If she could just make herself think strategically, she would know this was good. He hadn’t just come. He’d come before he wanted to. She should be able to use it.