After I Fall: A FALLING NOVEL Page 11

  "Tell me what you want." A whisper. One step short of begging her to let me touch her.

  She slips one arm around my neck, rising on her tiptoes to press her body against mine.

  But I'm in for a shock when her palm slips between us to cradle my erection and squeeze it gently. "Can I kiss you there?"

  My eyes damn near roll back in my head.

  * * *

  Eli

  * * *

  She is on her knees in front of me. It is the most erotic thing I've ever seen in my life.

  There is trust in that simple gesture. I cup her chin, stroking my thumb over her bottom lip. I can't look away. Her lips part, and I slide the tip in, just a little. Her mouth is soft and warm and wet. She closes around the edge of my thumb, sucking gently, so gently.

  I ache in a way I haven't ached in forever. This touch, this complete surrender to the feelings of erotic, sensual caress.

  There is nothing about this that will end well. We are from two very different worlds. And no matter how much I pretend to walk in hers, I'm only visiting. Trying to get funding to keep my business open. Trying to make a difference.

  Trying to pretend that the things I do still matter.

  But this afternoon, when she walked away, I couldn't let her go. I looked in her eyes and saw something there that called to me. That made me need to make her believe that she was touchable. That she was worth more than the people in her life had led her to believe.

  And now she is on her knees in front of me. Waiting, unsure about what to do next. My brain may want her some other way, but my dick is perfectly happy to oblige her at the moment with just how she is.

  I have lost control of this situation.

  But then she reaches for my jeans, her palm sliding over my cock. She squeezes me, still sucking gently on my thumb. She traces the tip of her tongue over the edge as she pulls my belt open. Jesus, I'm a fucking goner.

  The air is cool on my stomach as she pushes open my jeans. I can't move even if I wanted to. I need to see this through. I need to do this right.

  But I can't fucking move. I can't blink. I don't want to forget a single moment of the erotic image of Parker on her knees in front of me.

  She slides my erection out of my jeans, stroking me gently. Christ, I'm hard as fucking rock. It's everything I can do not to guide her lips to me. To urge her to put that beautiful mouth around the tip of my cock.

  I thought I didn't want this? I fucking lied.

  She drags her teeth over the edge of my thumb a moment before she releases me. I have nowhere to put my hands now.

  I drop them by my sides. I am not in control here.

  "Can I kiss you here?" she whispers, rubbing her thumb over the aching crown.

  "Yes please." The words are strangled. A plea. She has me under her complete control.

  I am completely still as she moves closer. Rubs her lips over the tip. A soft, gentle caress. I'm ready to fucking beg.

  And then she opens, tracing her tongue over the edge before sucking me gently, so gently into her mouth.

  It's heaven. Pure fucking heaven. Her touch is electric, like a thousand points of heat with every slide of her lips over my cock.

  I close my eyes and fight the urge to move, to rock into her.

  This…this is supposed to be for her but it's not. Because I am a selfish bastard who is just like a thousand other guys who won't turn down a beautiful woman on her knees.

  I'm no saint.

  But goddamn, Parker feels good. Touching me. Licking me. Sucking me. I am lost in her touch. Lost in the complete and total need to let her control this, let her take this wherever it will go.

  She sucks me a little harder. A groan escapes me. My balls tighten, and I can't fight the urge to rock into her. Just a little.

  I reach for her then, urging her to let me go. To stand. And when she does, I pull her against me, harder than I probably should, and kiss her. I'm too far gone at the moment to do anything but kiss her. To drink from her. To take all of her inside me in that single gesture.

  "I don't want to come like this,” I whisper, nibbling on the edge of her meal.

  "How then?"

  "How do you want me?" A serious question. She needs to know that she's controlling things here. She gets to say how far we go. If we even finish. "Because right now? I'd sell the fucking bar to get you to agree to let me do terrible, forbidden things to your body.”

  "What are you waiting for?"

  I smile and rock against her a little more. "Those five little words."

  And then she is on my sofa, her upper body braced on her palms. I capture her face in my palms and kiss her gently, lowering her until she is supported. Slowly, sipping on her lips. Savoring the taste of her. "Can I touch you here?" I slide my fingers down over the length of one of her arms. She makes a noise. "Say yes," I whisper near her ear.

  "Yes."

  "Can I touch you here?" I trace my fingertips over the edge of her ribs, just along the swell of her breast.

  Her response is a huff against my lips. I smile. "Say yes."

  "Yes."

  I brush the back of my knuckles over the tight edge of one nipple. A shiver runs through her.

  "Can I touch you here?" A slip of my fingers against her inner thigh.

  She makes a sound. A whimper. Maybe a plea.

  "I need you to say yes." I manage to get the words out. Barely. They are somewhere between a whisper and growl. It takes everything I have to restrain myself but this…this isn't for me. "Please say yes."

  I slip my finger a little closer, running it gently, barely there, over the seam of her body.

  Waiting, intensely and painfully hard, for her response.

  Chapter 16

  Parker

  * * *

  Heat burns across my skin the moment I clamp my thighs shut.

  I knew where he was going the moment he carried me to the couch. But to feel his fingers dancing closer to the edge of my body…

  He removes his hand, bracing himself on either side of me. His breathing is hard and ragged. He is partially between my thighs, partially covering me.

  He leans in close, brushing his lips over my throat once more. The man is infinite patience. I want to drop to my knees in front of him and let him finish. To feel him let go and know that I wielded that power.

  It'd be a small act of defiance in my caged little world.

  "I love tasting you," I whisper. I close my eyes, unable to look at him as I admit what touching him with my mouth did to my insides. I drag my teeth over his earlobe. "When I pulled you into my mouth, I imagined what it would feel like to have you push into me, to fill me." I breathe out the next words in a shame-filled rush. "That it wouldn't hurt. That for once, it would be like it's supposed to be."

  He trembles and then stills, and there is silence between us. Nothing but the beating of his heart beneath my palm. The silence drags on so long, I'm not sure he's even still breathing. But for the warmth from his body, he might not be.

  His expression is patient, but there's something more now. "So that night in the alley…it would have hurt you," he says, something close to anger lacing the edge of his words.

  "Not so much. I’d had a couple of drinks."

  He frowns then and shifts until his forearms are bent along my ribcage. He's kneeling on the floor. His mouth is a flat line. Disapproving. I know that expression all too well.

  "Wait. Have you ever had sex sober?"

  I shrug. "I was mostly sober that night."

  "You didn't answer the question." Suddenly I feel guilty. Like I've done something wrong.

  "Not since the first time."

  He presses his lips together and looks away. Down at my body, where his hands are cradling my ribs. Finally, he glances back up at me, and I am poignantly aware of the raw power in the man that I've chosen to get naked with.

  He leans close, pressing his body into mine. I can feel every hard line on his body, every hair pressing into my skin, ma
king me into a reflection of him. Like a key pushing into a new mold, forming it to the outlines of its teeth.

  Except that I will never be as powerful, as fierce. As independent.

  I welcome the pain, the discomfort of him. I can feel him, hard and stiff against my thigh. Waiting. Patient, oh so patient. "So if I touch you…" He slides his fingers over the line of my thigh. "Here." Dancing against the edge of where I ache. I want the pain from his touch. I want his hands on me, no matter how much it will hurt.

  I want to want something simple. And clean. And pure.

  I want him. And I have since that first night.

  He doesn't move for a long moment. Then, slowly, so slowly, he slides the tip of his finger over the seam of my body. I brace for it, for that slice of pain of dry skin running over dry skin.

  Despair is a real thing, clasping at my throat, squeezing it gently shut with every shattered inhalation.

  It doesn't hurt.

  His finger slides over me again, and I can feel the moisture from my body slicking over his finger.

  "Look at me," he whispers.

  I'm helpless to obey. The intensity of his eyes burns me like a physical thing. "Tell me how this feels." His voice is a hushed whisper. Gravelly and rough.

  He lifts one eyebrow when I remain silent. He shifts then, cradling me against him, urging my thighs further apart. "I want to do this right." His voice is rough in my ear. "Tell me what you like." And he slides his finger over me, again and again, driving me quietly insane.

  He's guiding us backward until I feel him tugging me against him. I'm cradled against his chest, my back pressed to that hard wall of muscle. I'm surrounded. He drags his teeth over the back of my neck, his finger dancing at the edge of my body where I am swollen and aching.

  Then he shifts, spreading his own legs and dragging mine open.

  I am completely exposed. He turns my face, kissing me then, his fingers brushing against my belly. His beard is soft and rough at once, his lips warm, his breath hot on my throat.

  "Are you okay?" His voice is deep, rumbling against my neck.

  "Better than you know." I don't want to risk him leaving. He's barely moved, but I feel like he's completed me in some way, just skin to skin. Simple. Uncomplicated in ways that my life can never be.

  He shifts then, urging one of my thighs to inch open, further, just a bit. "Close your eyes."

  I frown. I want to memorize every aspect of his touch. Watch his fingers move over my skin. Savor the contrast between his black-lined skin and mine.

  "Please?" His breath burns my skin.

  I swallow.

  And surrender.

  * * *

  Eli

  * * *

  The idea that sex hurts…I've heard it before but it's never really registered as a thing that really happens unless people are doing things wrong. Or intentionally, but that's a whole different ball of whips and chains.

  In Parker's case, I’ve judged her wrongly. Again.

  I assumed that a woman as well put together as she is would have…I don't know, maybe a training pool boy or somebody who would show her the ropes.

  She radiates confidence in everything she does. How could she possibly have not…I stop. Because to continue down that path is to move toward violence.

  Not toward her. No, never her. But toward the man that hurt her. Repeatedly. From what I can figure, it's the man who bruised her.

  Please let the gods put him in my path.

  I ease her off me and shift until I’m lying between her thighs, one leg draped over my shoulder.

  I wait until her eyes close before pressing my lips to her belly once more. I focus on the sensation of her skin touching mine. The softness. Her warmth. She smells like vanilla and oranges and rain.

  I should put her clothes in the dryer but that would involve leaving, and I'm quite comfortable where I'm at, thank you very much.

  Her body is a perfect fit; her ribs fill my palms. I've got to tread carefully. I need her to relax. To forget. And I need her to do it sober.

  It would be easier if she had a glass of wine. Or a shot of whiskey. It would take the edge off. Let her find a release without the stress of being locked inside her head holding her back.

  But then she'd never realize that it was possible for two lovers to connect in a way that doesn't hurt. That doesn't involve alcohol.

  A connect based only on trust.

  I trace one finger down the line of her ribs. Slowly trail up beneath the swell of her breasts. They're damn near perfection, her nipples tight and dusky. I circle one tip lightly enough that she’s unsure if I’ve touched her. Her expressions are priceless. She's concentrating. Trying to figure out where our flesh will meet next.

  I lick the tip of my finger, then trace her nipple again. A little firmer. Her breath hitches. She doesn't exhale. Waiting. Waiting.

  I blow on her skin where it's moist, and she exhales with a rush, the air shivering from her lungs. She's tense beneath me.

  I want her. All of her.

  It's a powerful thing to be wanted. But I need her body to tell me that, not her mouth. I need to know, to feel it in her response.

  I flick my tongue over her nipple then bite down sharply. She makes a noise deep in her throat, somewhere between a gasp and a cry. She wriggles a little and arches her back, opening her thighs a little more.

  I can think of nothing better than settling down and feasting on her. I mean to be patient. To go slow. But when I look down, I can see her swelling, her body responding to the slightest stimulation.

  Oh, how I want to believe she will come beneath my lips. That I can banish the terrible lover who has convinced her she doesn't deserve her own pleasure. That she's incapable of it.

  Watching her body swell…it hits me, hard. That this…this isn't some cheap fuck in an alley.

  I slide the tip of my index finger over the part of her clit that's peeking out from her folds. It's warm and soft and smooth and slick with her own heat. She makes another noise. Her thighs tighten around my body but she doesn't move. Doesn't open her eyes. I slide my finger over the seam of her body once more, savoring the delicate friction. Wanting to feel her body's wetness. Savoring the purity of the moment as she swells a little more beneath my fingertips.

  A woman's body is a magical thing. I touch her, a little more firmly this time. Parting her folds, exposing her where she's fifty shades of untouched pink. I wait for her to open her eyes, to watch every movement I make.

  Her eyes are on me as I open my mouth and gently touch her with my tongue. Just the tip. Just to see how she reacts.

  And she comes almost completely off the couch. This time her hands fist in my hair as I touch her again, licking her with a hint more pressure. I'm torn between watching her body and watching her expressions as I touch her.

  Her lips are parted, her face a relaxed mask of pleasure. Pure, simple pleasure. The way it should be between two consenting adults.

  I hesitate, unsure if she can take it, then open my mouth over her completely, dragging my tongue hard over her swollen flesh and sucking her where she's pulsing and ripe.

  A spike of something raw and powerful surges through me. I want…I want to push inside her. To draw this out for both of us. To feel her spasm and clench around me until we both crash into the void.

  But I don't. I focus on her pleasure. On every sigh, every spasm in her thighs. Using my tongue, my fingers, every trick I've learned from a thousand casual encounters to draw her out of her shell. Until she can't restrain herself. Until her thighs squeeze tight around me and her fingers thread into my hair, as much to anchor herself as to touch me.

  She's there, right there. I take her hand, threading mine with hers. Guide her fingers to her own flesh, wet with her own moisture. Watch the surprise flash across her face as she realizes her body is so slick and ready.

  And then she's gone, flying apart in my arms as I continue the sensual onslaught.

  I watch her come apart ben
eath my touch, my tongue, and I am undone. I reach down, stroking myself as she comes, using her pleasure to finally reach my own. To shatter with her, even as she's gone away where I can no longer reach her. My own orgasm rips through me, sending a violent release spiking through my body.

  It is only the beginning.

  It is enough.

  Chapter 17

  Parker

  * * *

  Regret is a powerful thing.

  There are too many things in this life that I regret already.

  Lying on the couch with Eli is not one of them.

  No, my only regret is that I have to leave. I have to go and meet my father. Because if I don't, if I try to play games, I will lose.

  Like always.

  Frustration pushes aside the warmth in my body, replacing it with the chilled press of time draining my lungs. I'm not sure what the polite way is to tell a man who just did unimaginable things between your thighs that you have to go but, well, there I am.

  I'm loathe to move. To breathe. Not when he's just done something magical and possibly illegal in several countries.

  I want the need to disappear. But I don't want to forget this. The warmth of his touch, the heat of his body—he surrounds me for a moment and I simply am basking in the realization of what we just did and the fear that I may never, ever feel as good as I do in this exact moment.

  His head is resting on my belly, one finger idly sliding over my skin. The caress in itself is something magical. Something beautiful in its simplicity. Who knew it was so nice just to be touched in such a familiar way?

  I can feel the pressure of the clock against my lungs. It's impossible that he can't feel it, too; creeping into my muscles, tightening and tensing and pushing away the languid pleasure, but he seems oblivious.

  He shifts, pressing his lips to my belly just below my navel, and then he rises, standing in a single, effortless motion.