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Chapter Eighteen
Carrying Agatha from the kitchen,Chris stopped every few steps to kiss her, touch her, or shift her so that she knew how much he wanted her. He almost didn’t make it up the stairs when her nails dug into his back when he shifted her enough to slip her pebbled nipple into his mouth. Her back arched and threw him off balance enough that he had to press her against the wall to steady them.
With her back against the wall, he slid his hands into her loose-fitting sweatpants until her legs dropped from around his waist so he could slide them off her. Dragging her panties off at the same time left her completely exposed to him.
Not wasting the opportunity, he ran a finger over her slick heat, making her moan. Chris loved how responsive she was. He teased her with his fingers as he bit down lightly on her nipple. Grabbing his head, she held him to her breast as her hips ground down on his fingers.
“Please, Chris,” she panted between moans.
With a flick of his thumb over her clit, he felt and heard her suck in a breath as tremors overtook her body. All he could do was continue what he had been doing, making her completely lose control in his arms as tremors turned into spasms each time his thumb circled over her hard bud. He kept going until she jerked under his touch, and her hold on him relaxed as she came with his name on her lips.
Before he could rip his own pants off and sink into her right there on the stairs, Chris grabbed her limp body tight to him and walked up the remaining steps to the second floor. Getting inside her was all he could think about, to make her come while he was inside her.
The room he’d been sleeping in was well over ten feet down the hallway, but Agatha’s was right there. So nice and close, and after how many times he had fantasized about being in there, he wanted to make it a reality.
He didn’t take the time to look around Agatha’s room, just set her in the middle of the brown bedspread, dislodging a pile of folded laundry in the process, sending the stack to floor. Her arms were around him, and she held him for half a moment longer than necessary before they flopped down above her head.
Unrestrained, he started kissing down her body again, this time with the ability to look and touch every inch of creamy bare skin he wanted to—which was all of it.
His cock was throbbing under his jeans, demanding attention. As if Agatha herself could hear it, she sat up, and her hands reached for the button on his jeans. Her hands slipped over his stomach, but he arched away.
His need to have her fingers on his cock was strong, but he realized he wasn’t ready for them to be done yet. For the first time in his life, he felt that what they were doing wasn’t sex; it was something more. Something to savor, something not to be rushed.
Grabbing her arms, he pulled them above her head and leaned down to kiss her. Those kissable lips had been on his mind since the first day he had seen her. Now they were his to explore, to taste.
Letting go of her hands, he touched her nose with his and whispered, “Leave them.”
Her only response was a whimper, but they stayed above her head, buried below the dozen pillows leaning against her headboard.
“I want to savor you, starting at this scar that I want to know all about.” He kissed the faint mark that was almost always hidden by her dark bangs. Then his hand ran down her leg until it grabbed a pair of socks that had managed to stay on the bed when all the other clothes were gone. “To these crazy sexy fuzzy socks.”
Single-handedly, he pulled the socks apart and tossed one on the floor. He ran the other sock up her leg, the softness lightly grazing her body. He trailed it from her thigh, skimming the dark hair that covered her sex. Her whimpering started in earnest as he slipped past to her flat stomach. Circling her belly button, he watched her bite down on her lower lip, hard.
Kissing her until she released the lip from her teeth, he slipped the sock back over her core and swallowed the whimper that escaped her. Pulling away when her lips were safe from damage, he watched her nearly black eyes as the sock slid over her hard nipples over and over again, not breaking eye contact as her fisted hands crushed a small pillow to the top of her head, the only outward sign that he was having any effect on her.
Running the sock over her chest and neck, she crushed the pillow under her fingers. Then he slipped it over her face, brushing her lips, then kissing the lips, then again with the sock, kiss, sock. Until she whimpered again.
Every whimper caused his cock to strain more and more painfully against his jeans. As much as he was torturing her, he was doing worse to himself. Not that he cared; he loved every one of those whimpers.
Running the sock over her forehead, he asked, “How did you get this scar?”
Her voice was husky as she watched the sock brush her skin. “Harper, toaster, fourteen.”
Another sweep. “Your sister threw a toaster at you when you were fourteen?”
Her only answer was another whimper as the sock disappeared from the scar and reappeared again on her breasts, only to run over her nipple, down her stomach, and over her core again. He ran it down her left thigh, all without breaking eye contact. “What about this one?”
Her only answer was to shake her head, the pillow moving with it since it was pressed so tightly to it.
“You don’t know, or you are not telling?”
He dropped the sock and ran his bare finger over the inch-long white mark. The touch was so soft and delicate, as if he was concerned with hurting her. A whimper went through her again.
Her voice was shaky as her leg moved, trying to get his finger to touch her where she wanted him. “A guy I was with thought I was into pain.”
Shimmying down the bed, he slipped between her legs, and all his attention went back to the scar. He hated that it represented a man who hurt her, that there was something marring her body that someone had intentionally put there.
Suddenly, it dawned on him that he had once been just like the guy, doing what he wanted to do and not carrying about the woman he was doing it with. The mark on Agatha was a reminder of who he had been and who he never wanted to be again. A part of him he never wanted Agatha to even see.
