Chapter 14: The Coffee Can

He kicked his jeans off and came down over me on the quilt.

His weight settled between my thighs, and I felt him hard against my panties, hot through the thin cotton.

"Off," I said, tugging at the waistband of my skirt.

He pulled the skirt and my panties down together and threw them somewhere behind him.

For a moment he only looked.

I was naked under him with the stove light on my skin, and I did not cover myself.

"Tell me what you want," he said.

"Your mouth."

"Where?"

"Between my legs, Abraham. Please."

He groaned, low, and slid down the bed.

He pushed my thighs wide with his big scarred hands and put his mouth on me.

I cried out and my hips came up off the quilt.

His tongue was slow, then not slow, flat and wet on my clit, then circling it, then sucking until I couldn't hold still.

He slid two fingers inside me, and I was so wet they went in easily.

He curled them and found the place, and I clutched his hair and said his name over and over.

"Don't stop," I said. "Don't you dare stop."

He didn't.

I came hard against his mouth, shaking, with my heels digging into his back.

He kept licking through it, gently now, until I pushed at his shoulders and begged.

He crawled up my body, wet-mouthed and wild-eyed.

"Again," he said, "with me inside you."

"Yes."

He reached for the drawer of the bedside table, and I caught his arm.

"I'm on the shot," I said. "It's been years, there's only been Connor. I want to feel you."

"I haven't been with anyone in six years."

"Then come here."

He lined himself up and pushed in, an inch at a time, watching my face.

He was thick, and I felt every inch of it stretching me, and I made a sound I'd never made in my husband's bed.

"Is that too much?" he asked, shaking.

"It's not enough. Move."

He seated himself all the way and stayed there, his forehead on mine, both of us panting.