3:AM Kisses (21 page)

Bryson reaches down and unties my bikini bottom and pulls it off slow through the front, and the fabric rubs along the most intimate part of me like a slick, wet tongue.

A moan works its way up my throat, and I try to cap it. I don’t want him to think this is all too much for me, that I’m overwhelmed in any way—of course, I am, but in every
good
way. The truth is the simple act of him stripping me nude is far more erotic than I could have ever imagined, and that vulnerable part of me is back on board with the idea.

“I’m going to make love to you, Baya.”

A tiny squeal escapes from me, more fear than cheer, but I doubt he heard over the bongo drum-like riot, taking place in my chest.

His fingers feather over my cheek, and I move toward him like a magnet. Bryson’s heated hands roam over my back. He rounds out the front and gives my nipples a gentle pinch before dipping a hand down to my thighs and finding his way into the warmth of my body. I seal a breath off in my lungs and let out a hearty, yet vocally impaired, groan as my sweet spot jumps up and down in his hand as if it were happy to finally meet him.

“Oh, yeah,” he groans. “You’re so wet.”

“That’s because we were in the hot tub,” I whisper through a smile.

A dull laugh pumps from him. “And here I thought you were ready for me.”

Ready for him. Right. Crap. I’m such a moron. Who the hell did I think I was sleeping with Bryson without at least brushing up on my sexual terminology? I’m beyond ridiculous to think I was just going to causally pick things up as we went along. I should have logged hours watching porn instead of reading Yates for Lit. It’s like I’ve got no fucking priorities. I should have read the
Karma Sutra
—shoved it in Cole’s face when he asked what I was reading. How do you like my book boyfriend now, bitch?

I shake my head, quickly chasing away the desire to inadvertently tell off my brother—from
thinking
of my brother while my newfound boyfriend’s hand is rubbing me the right way.

Bryson bows his head into me, his eyes close, his chest thumps with each breath. His fingers glide over my folds and I bury my lips in his neck as a dull cry rattles through me.

I let out a breath. Oh,
hell,
yes.

Bryson rubs over me slowly, methodically as if he had an entire game plan mapped out, and I am so loving the game plan. His fingers brush back until he carefully inserts one into me, and my hips writhe with pleasure right there in his hand. I crash my body against his and push my cheek into his shoulder with my mouth open and panting. My entire body demands to detonate over him. This is something far stronger than those pansy-like quivers I’ve been experiencing, and just the thought that he can elicit in me an excitement I had no idea existed makes my muscles twitch with ecstasy.

“You’re so tight,” he whispers close in my ear, gliding his finger in and out.

I try to agree with him, but I’m biting down over my lips, outright refusing to open my mouth in fear a viral scream will leap from my lungs. He’s loving me, touching me in ways that I could never imagine, and I’d hate to break the magic with the unearthly shriek begging to rip from my vocal cords.

Bryson peppers my face with a soft string of kisses. His hand moves inside me spiraling deeper until it feels as if he’s going to touch my belly. “Does that feel good, baby?”

A small choking sound evicts itself from my throat.

“Mmm,” he moans softly in my ear with a kiss. “I thought so. I love watching you. You’re fucking beautiful when you’re about to come, you know that?”

Oh God. As if being in bed with Bryson wasn’t enough, he has to go and turn up the dirty talk. And I freaking LOVE the dirty talk!

My body bucks into his, and I hold onto his shoulders, digging my fingers into his flesh, trembling as a wash of heat takes over my body. I’m going to lose it right on his hand before we ever get to the part where he injects his tree trunk into me. I squeeze my eyes shut and throw my head back as he presses into my body with an earnest desire.

“Baya,” he whispers as his voice drills through my spine—between my legs where his hand is still loving me, slow and purposeful.

Bryson lays me on the bed with his body hovering gently over mine. My head arches back as I push my hips to meet his. I’m writhing, unable to settle down. Each nerve in my body is raw and alive at his touch. My senses are at attention, every inch of my flesh is calling him to cover me like a sheet. A moan gets locked in my throat as he pulls his hand away, and a severe ache is left in his absence. Maybe this is as far as we’ll ever get. Maybe he’s already done the vaginal math, and he knows he’ll never fit inside, so why bother trying.

Bryson touches his lips to my ear. He covers my lobe with his mouth and runs his tongue along the rim like an erotic warning.

“Bryson,” I hiss, writhing from his volcanic-like kisses.

Just as I’m about to suggest he get the hell back down there, his hand covers me again. His finger glides in and out, and a sweet throb rockets through me, slow and steady as he picks up his pace.

He presses a kiss to my ear. “I want you to come for me, Baya,” it streams like an inferno from his mouth.

A breath gets caught in my throat as he plunges deep inside me, his thumb moves over my folds, and I let out a breath as I flex into him. I’m shaking so hard, the entire bed rattles.

“But not like this,” he whispers. A quiet laugh filters through his chest. Bryson reaches up and cups my breasts again, his hand still wet from touching me. He presses me together and buries his lips between the soft mounds of flesh for a moment. He sears his mouth across my chest until his lips are secured over one, and gives a playful bite before sucking on it careful and slow. He lands his teeth gently over my nipple and pulls it out, stretching it until it feels as if I’m about to burst. “Did you like that?” He teases as he rides his lips up toward mine.

“Yes.” I can barely manage the word as I lose myself in his kisses.

“Good.” He slips his fingers below my waist. “Now I’m going to make you come, Baya.” He lies me back and rises above me. “In my mouth.”

Did he just say his
mouth
?

I take in a breath and can’t seem to shut off the intake valve.

His mouth is like twelve times better than his hand, not that there was anything wrong with Bryson’s hand. God no. It should be cast in a mold and sold at those naughty adult stores worldwide. It would be a best seller because each finger holds its own magical property. I have a feeling that little joy toy would turn the entire vibrator market on its ear—penis, whichever.

“Do you want that?” He smolders over me with his bedroom eyes, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. A sharp sting ignites over me when he asks the question.

I let out a little whimper because, holy shit, YES I motherfucking want that. I give a little nod in the event my whimper could be misconstrued in any way, shape, or form.

A wild prickle of excitement tracks over my skin as every cell in my body cheers him on.

Bryson trails his kisses down to my chest, and I jump with each one. These weren’t just any kisses, these were blazing a trail to a place where no mouth has ever ventured before. He lands his lips over my nipple one more time, and it melts from his heated tongue before he dives lower still, burying a kiss in my belly. My eyes flutter back in my head, and all sorts of feel good vibrations rocket through me like errant missiles shooting off in every direction at once.

Oh God, the belly kiss. Yes—God yes, the
belly
kiss.

“
Bryson
,” I groan and hold him there for a second.

“Does that feel good?” He sinks lower, not waiting for an answer and pushes my knees apart until I feel vulnerable, and my entire lower half spasms from sheer titillation.

My heart gyrates its way into my throat. I glance down and notice he’s paused his efforts.

God
, something’s wrong. I knew it, I’m deformed down there, and now he wants nothing to do with me and my misshapen vagina. Or maybe he can’t find it because I didn’t take the time to do some serious landscaping. It was like hacking through swampland, and my poor razor dulled out before I could put a decent dent in the curly curtains. Crap. He’s face to face with Furby and now he wants nothing more than to box it up and take me back to Boys “R” Us for a refund.

I hike up on my elbows and try to pull him back.

“Whoa.” He snatches my hand and presses a hot kiss over one finger. “I’m just enjoying the view, honey. I’m not coming up for a while.” He tucks a kiss into my inner thigh, and my vagina all but starts singing,
Welcome to the Jungle
. A sizzle of electricity spirals through me as his tongue tracks in a long hot line, closer and closer, to that tender part of me that’s been waving him in like an air traffic controller since the day we met.

Oh God, he’s going to do it. I fall back on the pillow and bite over my bottom lip until I’m sure I’m about to draw blood. I fist the covers, and my head twists back and forth in anticipation of where his searing lips might land next.

He pulls back up, and my sweet spot sags with disappointment.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He sinks a kiss just below my belly then trails his kisses further south, touching down over the dark triangle of hair, then below that, and I give a heated breath, then lower still until his lips press into the most tender part of me, and every ounce of estrogen in me screams
YES
because his rock star of a mouth just took center stage.

My head arches back, deliriously writhing into the pillow.

His tongue does a quick exploratory lay of the land, and I can feel him breathing over me. It sort of tickles in a deliciously sweet way. His teeth graze over me as he tracks lower, penetrating deep into me with his tongue, and I let out a fierce groan because, holy hell, I
so
was not expecting that.

WOW.

I twist my head until I bite down into my pillow. Bryson Edwards is killing me in the most erotic way possible. It’s becoming painfully clear that I’m never going to survive this night. My heart is going to launch out of my throat at any moment because obviously I’m not designed to handle excitement of this caliber. Crap. I’m not even designed to handle a pedicure, what in the hell was I thinking climbing into bed with Bryson Edwards?

I have no idea how those countless girls he bedded ever survived the explosiveness of his lips, his body—the olive branch between his legs he’s so ready and willing to extend. I bet there’s some survivors group I can join after, that is if I manage to live through the endeavor, and we can all talk about how amazing the sex god of Whitney Briggs is in bed.

He runs his tongue along the slick between my thighs, and I groan as I grind my shoulders into the mattress. He lashes out over me until I’m clawing at the covers, scratching over his back, raking my fingers through his hair. His hand tracks down over my hips, and his finger finds its way inside me once again, this time with much more purpose and force behind it. His mouth remains steady over me while his hand pulsates in and out. I let out a fierce groan because it’s all way too much more than this girl, or any of her parts, can handle.

The room starts in on a silent spin. My head and chest build with incredible pressure. That small space between my thighs has become the entire focus of my universe as an invisible blaze consumes me from the inside out.

Oh shit, shit—
shit
.

“
Bryson
.” I lurch forward and spike my nails into his back. He plunges into me again with his hand and speeds up his tongue lashing efforts until I let out a scream that sears from my lungs, raw and urgent. “
Bryson!
” I lock my knees over his head half-afraid I’m going to crack his skull like a walnut, causing his brain to squirt into my lap. My body seizes and trembles until a dull ache rides through me, soothing and calm as the sea after a storm.

Bryson unleashes himself from the headlock and swims up beside me, his body slick with perspiration from the effort.

“You taste like sugar,” he pants through a smile, still out of breath.

“Somehow I doubt that. But I appreciate the thought.” I wrap my arms around him and press his sticky chest to mine.

“No really, you do. You’re so fucking sweet.” He tries to land his lips over mine, but I turn my head, deflecting his efforts to prove his carbohydrate-based theory. “I want you to taste it,” he whispers while gently turning my head toward him. He lands a kiss over me before swiping his tongue in my mouth.

It tastes metallic, honeyed like an exotic nectar. I let Bryson love me with his tongue in my mouth while his breathing picks up pace as if he were about to step out onto the frontlines of battle and this were our final goodbye. Bryson singes his honeyed skin over mine, and I moan, running my hands over his drenched back.

He leans up on his elbow and examines me with a look of contentment for a small eternity.

“You said my name.” He pins his cheek high on one side as he gently pushes the hair away from my face.

“I’m sure you’re used to hearing your name cried out in ecstasy,” I tease, pulling him in close by the small of his back.

“No one’s ever said my name before, and I’m glad. I only want to hear it from you, ever.” He sears another kiss off my lips, wet and juicy. Bryson reaches over to the nightstand and holds up a small foil packet. “You ready for round two?”

My stomach explodes in a ball of fire. “You think it’s okay? I hate to sound naïve, but the lower forty-eight clearly have a bottleneck issue.”

“Oh?” He pulls his lips to the side with a sarcastic flair. “Does that make these, Hawaii and Alaska?” He pinches each of my nipples in turn.

“Very funny.”

“What were we discussing again?” He growls it out with a touch of a demonic laugh.

“The Panama Canal.” I bite down over my lip before I start giggling like an idiot with no end in sight. It’s happened before, the giggling thing. It derails me from the task at hand, and in no way do I want to be derailed while in bed with Bryson.