Rapture

Chapter XV

I'm lost in the warmth of his touch.

He kisses the bud before moving on to my other, his hand at my waist moving down further, a light touch across my undershorts, and then at my inner thigh.

I roll my hips again, hold him tighter against me as he tongues my nipple, fingers climbing higher again, only this time with a different purpose.

I crave his touch, and he rubs circles into the sensitive skin of my inner thigh with his thumb, making me mad with desire, driving me crazy with his tongue.

"North," I stutter out a moan, my body shivering, feeling cold as he lifts himself up for a second.

He switches our legs so that he kneels between mine, pulling me up against him so my body curls forward, hips meeting his as he leans back down to kiss me.

I flush again, flooded with addictive warmth as he leans forward, forcing my legs apart further. I groan into his mouth, feeling the soreness in my legs.

"Poor little Mouse . . . you're hurting, aren't you?"

I pant—nod as he leans back.

I wish my hands were healed so I could pull him back towards me.

He massages my thighs, one with each hand, firm and gentle as he ducks his head down to kiss the side of my knee.

I'm acutely aware of how my undershorts fall drastically low, the loose-fitting bottoms threatening to show everything to this man once again. Nothing he hasn't seen before.

His hands sink lower and lower, even into my undershorts.

My breath hitches— "North," I protest, but I can't even tell myself if it's really a protest when I'm spreading my legs wider for him.

It's scandalous, promiscuous, but damn if I don't want so much more.

His hands are far too close to that area, settling at the absolute highest point they can go without actually touching me there.

I squirm, but his hold is firm.

He laughs to himself. "Hmm—that's cute."

I flush, move my hand up to catch his wrists but stop when I realize I can't.

He leans down again, his body molding to mine in a way that seems to ignite something inside me.

"North," I whisper, like a mantra because I couldn't possibly think of anything else.

He leans down, kissing me continuously, pecking me on my swollen lips but never going further. "Tell me you want it," he coos, tempting me.

I bite my lip—there's no way I could say something so inappropriate.

Instead, I roll my hips again, trembling when the friction feels so good . . .

It's not enough.

North ducks down again to brush his lips against the shell of my ear. I'm panting, and he says, "Tell me what you want, Finn . . ."

I give in quickly, shamefully— "Please, North—I want it, I want it . . ."

He smiles, a familiar wicked grin that I've seen on so few occasions coming to light.

I gasp as his hands move further, when he cups my most private area and gives me the friction I crave so deeply.

I'm embarrassed at the sound that comes out of my mouth, but North loves it—plays with my pleasure until he brings me to the edge.