Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
As soon as I realized Che was with me, I froze, not wanting to disturb him, to give him any reason to move away from me. I just wanted a couple of stolen moments where I could soak in the sensation. Just in case I didn't get it again.
So that was what I did.
I soaked it in.
The feel of his legs tucked under mine, the way my ass cradled against his lap, the rise and fall of his chest against my back, the warm exhale of his breath in my hair, the arm draped over me, and his hand, well, firmly wedged between my boobs.
It should have been funny. And it was. But my body also decided it was kind of hot too. Only because it was Che's hand. And it was very nearly touching me how I'd fantasized about him touching me more than a few times. Even if he was only doing it because he was unconscious and his hand was seeking some warmth.
Tentatively, I took a slow, deep breath, expanding my chest, feeling his fingers get closer to actually covering one boob.
Then I went ahead and took another breath, deeper this time.
And there was a low grumbling noise from the man behind me.
"Stop," he demanded, sounding sleepy, amused, and heated somehow all at the same time.
Even as I thought that, I could feel his hardness growing against my backside. I just barely resisted the urge to wiggle against him, to feel him slide between my thighs, brush where I needed him most.
"Stop what?" I asked, feigning innocent.
"You know what," he told me. "Yeah, that," he added when I took another breath.
"Breathing?" I asked. "I mean, hey, it's not my fault you were copping a feel while I was unconscious."
"I was unconscious too," he said, and it hadn't escaped me that his hand hadn't moved yet.
And his cock was fully hard against me now, making my heartbeat quicken and my belly swirl. There was a firm pressure on my lower stomach, chaos between my thighs, making me need to press them together to even be able to think straight.
"Che..." I said, hearing the airlessness in my voice, the unasked questions hanging in the air.
Was that just a fluke last night?
Do you regret the kiss?
Or do you, like me, want more?
Like, perhaps, right now?
"I don't have long," he told me, voice low, deep. I swear the accent he'd slowly been shedding little by little over the years sounded thicker with his arousal.
"That's okay," I decided, not caring how long he had, just knowing I needed to feel his hands on me. In whatever way we could manage in the time he had remaining.
My hand moved, covering his, sliding it to cover my breast. The low, growling noise that came from him made that need between my thighs turn positively painful.
His thumb moved out, stroking over the fabric, working my nipple into a tight bud. Once it was, he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, making a whimper escape me as my ass wiggled against his lap.
At the sensation, Che's hand moved down my chest to slide under my shirt, squeezing my bare breast hard for a second before working my nipple again without the barrier. Teasing, rolling, pinching with just the right kind of pressure.
"Che, please," I demanded, hips wiggling against him again.
I didn't care if all we had was five minutes, I wanted him inside me. I needed it. I wasn't sure I would be able to think straight again without it.
"We can't," he objected, hand moving to my other breast. "There's not enough time."
"I don't need a lot of time," I told him, feeling the throbbing ache between my thighs intensify.
"No, but I want to give that to you," he said, rolling my nipple harder. "I want to take my time," he added.
The sweetness of that, the promise of it, made my belly wobble, but did nothing for the clawing need for release in the moment.
"We can take time some other time," I suggested, wiggling again, hearing the hiss of his breath as he exhaled.
"We can't. I can't," he added, reminding me that we weren't just any man and any woman in bed together. We were a man and a woman after a near-death experience. And he had a bullet wound that needed to heal.
"Oh, right. Yeah. I'm sor..." I started as his hand left my breast, started to slide down. But it didn't slip out of my shirt, and retreat somewhere safer.
No.
It slid down under the waistband of my pants.
"Che..."
"I can't do that. Not yet," he said, voice a dark promise. "But I can do this," he added, fingers slipping between my thighs, finding the proof of my desire.
"So wet," he murmured against my hair, making my belly do the wobble thing again as his fingers slid upward, finding my clit, and starting to work it in unhurried circles.