Pretending (Westshore Series #1)

Chapter Thirty: Arguing Is Our Foreplay

It seemed that the sound of my moan was his undoing, his fingers in my hair dug into my scalp, angling his head so he could get a better taste.

My hands roved under his shirt all over his muscled chest, I was desperate for any skin, anything to touch as our tongues met and parted, as he licked the roof of my mouth, as he slid his tongue over my teeth.

I met him stroke for stroke, all my sense of self flying from me. I plunged my fingers into his hair, and it was just as soft as I remembered, the strands like silk against my skin.

Every hateful thought had left my mind. I gave in to the distraction, welcomed it with open arms, letting the kiss burn through all of it. There was only Warner. His mouth and his tongue, licking and tasting and biting; there was only the strength of his body, pressing against mine, but not nearly close enough.

He slid his hands around me, grasping me by my ass and lifting me into the air. I wrapped my legs around his middle and moaned again as he pressed himself between my thighs. Warner ground into me and groaned into my mouth at the first push of his hips. I arched my back at that deep-throated sound, baring my neck to him. He seized on it, dragging his mouth from mine.

His tongue traced a line up the column of my neck, dragging heat in its wake, and reached that spot just below my ear that had me clenching and against my better judgement I let out a whimper. He let out a laugh against my skin and traced his tongue down the spot again.

My breasts ached as I moved against him, seeking any contract with his chest, any bit of friction. The scrape of his tongue over the spot had my eyes rolling back in my head. He ground his hips into mine and then drove his hips between mine, a push of his hardness into the throbbing ache of me.

I scrambled to regain any sense of control or sanity, but I found myself wanting to hand it all over to him, to let him touch me and fill me. He groaned as if he could read that in my stare and kissed me again.

Our tongues tangled, our bodies pressed so tightly I could feel his heartbeat against my chest. He tasted me thoroughly like he was trying to commit every part of me to memory.

I had to feel his skin. I had to feel his hardness pushing into me with my hands, my mouth, and my body. I would go mad if I didn't, I would go mad if I couldn't get his clothes off or if he stopped kissing me.

I wedged my hand between our bodies, seeking him out. Warner groaned again, long and low as I cupped him through his pants. My breath was stolen from me as I felt the sheer size of him.

My mouth watered. His kiss turned deeper, and wilder as I grabbed the buttons of his jeans. There were so many I didn't know how to undo them; I was almost frantic tipping at every loop trying to get him free.

Warner's panting caressed my skin as he nipped at my bottom lip, my ear, my jaw. My own breathing echoed it, he captured my mouth again, moaning into me as I gave up on the zipper and buttons and laid my hand flat against him. He bucked as I rubbed the heel of my palm down his length, marcelling at each inch.

He tore his mouth from mine. He rasped "If you keep doing that, I'll-"

I did it again, dragging the heel of my palm upward, toward the tip I knew pressed against his lower abdomen. His lips arced toward me, and he tilted back his head, exposing the strong column of his throat.

"Jules." he rasped, one hand in my hair, one hand on my hip, he gripped hard and grunted out a low, guttural sound.

I learned the shape of him through his pants, and pressed my hand harder, working him. He gritted his teeth and the sight of him coming undone had me leaning forward. Had me pressing my lips onto his neck as I rubbed him harder and rougher.