Life Support (The Breathe Series Book 2) (52 page)

“Oh.” I laugh. “Well, I can assure you, that’s not the case.” I don’t know why, but I feel even calmer with him than before. There’s just something about him. Maybe it’s the whole knight-in-shining-armor thing. I’m relieved and beyond grateful. He and his little contract will be saving me from God knows what kind of trauma I may have endured. I slip my hands inside his unbuttoned shirt and slide them up to his shoulders, slowly pushing it off them. I step out of my dress and toe it to the side. Mitch reaches his hand around the back of my neck, bringing my hair around to sit on my shoulder. He leans down. His lips trail kisses down and into the curve of my neck.

“Set the scene for me, baby. I want to play along.” His voice is soft and sexy. It sends my little gymnasts back into action.

“It’s a simple scene, really.” I lift the hem of his undershirt. He takes a step back, letting me pull it up over his head. I toss it on top of my dress. He’s fit. I can tell he works out, when he can. There are no ridiculous muscles to outline with my tongue like I’ve read in so many of my favorite romance novels. He’s just a regular guy. I like that—makes him even more appealing, for some reason. I place my hands on his strong shoulders. “I’m your girlfriend and this is the first time I’m letting you have all of me. I’m nervous. While this isn’t my first time, it’s my first time with you. I want to be perfect for you. I want to do everything right. I want to be even more than you’ve imagined.” I bring my eyes up to find his.

His kind eyes. I begged for kind eyes before I met him, but I’m not sure I knew exactly what I was asking for, or if it really existed. Now I know. They are laced with warmth, generosity, and concern, held in place by small lines in the corners that show off many years of laughter and playfulness. At the moment, I am most certain that I can trust this man. The irony is, of course, not lost on me. I’m putting my trust in a man who pays for sex—not the usual sort I put my confidence in.

“Jesus, Charlotte,” he says as his hand cups my left cheek, “I feel like you’re staring into my soul.”

“I am,” I say, almost in a whisper. Leaning up on my toes, I brush my lips against his, noting the slight change in the tempo of his breathing. His hand wraps around the small of my back, pulling me close to him as he attacks my lips. I play at the belt of his suit pants and whip it off. Mitch unhooks my bra. Cool air hits my lips. I open my eyes, watching him watch me. I quickly glance to my shoulder. As Mitch slides my bra straps off my shoulders and down my arms, his eyes focus on mine. Sad to say, but I think this is the most erotic moment of my life. My bra falls to the floor.

“You okay, baby?” He traces the slight prominence of my clavicle bone with his index finger. I almost think he’s asking for real, but then I remember—he’s playing along.

“Mmhmm.”

“I’ll stop if you need me to.” He leans down near my ear. “Not really,” he whispers, and I can’t help but laugh a little. He straightens up, his smile extending to his eyes. I reach up with my hand and lightly touch the laugh lines at the corner of his eye.

“What are you doing?”

“Admiring the evidence of joy in your life. No matter how great or small—it’s all right here.” I strum my fingers over the tiny lines. “I find that very attractive.” My smile is small, maybe a little timid-looking. I can only hope my expression isn’t completely revealing my sudden shyness or concern over my inexperience.

“I find your thoughts overwhelming,” he says, grabbing my hand. He kisses the tip of each finger. I give him a quizzical look and he shakes his head dismissively. “Enough stalling, baby.” He begins backing me up toward the bed.

“You started it.”

I arch a brow and pop the button on his pants.

“Yeah, well—I’m gonna finish it, too.” With that, he turns me around swiftly so I’m facing the bed.
Holy hell!
His breath hits my neck, hot and full of promise. His hands fall to my sides. Slowly they push forward to my stomach and travel up.

“Ah!” I gasp from the bolt of electricity surging to my groin. Mitch rolls and tugs my nipples with skill and precision. I lean my head back against his chest. Hooking my arm around his neck, I bring his mouth down to mine. After a beat, his hands quickly slide down to my panties. His fingers hook under the elastic. He pulls away from mouth and whips my panties down to the floor.
Good God!
After an affectionate nip at my bum, he comes back up to a standing position and slowly turns me back around, then pulls the duvet back.

“Lie down.” He nods toward the bed. I hear him unzip his pants while I sit and gracefully (I hope!) crawl back onto the bed.

Laying my head back, I take to yoga breathing once again, only I don’t exhale with Lion’s Breath.
Shit . . . I’m not exhaling at all! Breathe, Charley. Breathe.
My lungs finally give in to the pressure, and the feeling of Mitch’s teeth lightly biting at the inside of my leg. He pulls my legs apart—wide. I feel so overwhelmed at the exposure, the vulnerability. I gasp again as he tenderly bites and licks at the apex of my groin. My hips rise, encouraging him. Mitch’s finger traces ever so slowly over my cleft. I think I hear him whispering something, but I’m not certain. The pounding of my heart is deafening. Just when I think I can’t handle any more of the tantalizing torture of his hesitation, his tongue glides over, tasting me. A moan escapes from my throat.

“Damn it, Charlotte!” he snaps. I can barely hear him over the pounding in my ears.
Damn it, Charlotte? What’s that about?
Did I do something . . . oh. Oh. My. God.

“Ugh . . . Mitch . . . please,” I beg. He holds me open, his mouth violently attacking my vulnerability. The swirling, the biting, the plunging—it’s more than I can bear. I’m in sensory overload, and his hand holds my pelvis down, forcing me to endure it all with no relief in sight. “Please . . . oh please, Mitch,” I cry out. I feel—I know—I’m on the verge of some sort of breakthrough here. Mitch slows his hunger to a savoring pace. I feel a finger circling my entrance, as if plotting its plan of attack. He slips two fingers in at the pace of a Sunday drive. They meticulously massage the upper front wall of my vagina, sending my body on a leisurely hike to Heaven. A delicious tightening occurs deep inside, traveling up to the pit of my stomach. I squeeze my eyes shut as my body celebrates the joyous occasion of my first orgasm not supplied by a battery-operated object. A rocket shoots off a burst of purple. Another burst, now of white . . . blue . . . green . . .

“Ugh . . . oh . . . Mitch . . . Mitch . . .” I don’t even recognize my voice, and the rockets are coming so quick, one explosion after another.

“That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.” His encouragement works me through the last of my quakes. My body stills after I give him the last of my whimpers. I stare at the ceiling, trying to steady my breathing. I feel tears rolling from the corners of my eyes. I quickly wipe them away while Mitch begins his climb up my body. My breast rises to greet his mouth, and I plunge one hand into his hair and grasp his chin with the other. Lifting my neck, I pull his mouth away from my nipple and attack his lips. He finishes his climb, allowing me to rest my head down, his tongue exploring my mouth. Ripping his lips from mine, he gazes into my eyes, strumming his thumb against my bottom lip purposefully. Mitch shifts just barely, never losing eye contact. I raise my hips for him, and at this moment I realize I have never wanted someone this bad in my life. My neck involuntarily bends back as I feel myself stretch around him.

“Charlotte,” he gasps. A small sob flies from my mouth and hangs over us like a secret that never meant to be discovered. “Charlotte . . . baby, look at me,” he whispers. My neck relaxes and my eyes find his. They look confused. “Charlotte?”

“Shh.” I lean up and kiss him. It turns from soft and reluctant to urgent, even desperate. Mitch rolls his hips again—skillfully, I may add. Within moments, we are in perfect rhythm. I relish in the feeling of my body finally accommodating his with ease. I swiftly turn my head away. My eyes go wide in disbelief as the newly familiar feeling creeps up on me once again.

“Look at me,” he commands. It’s meant to sound assertive, but it translates almost to a plea. I comply—eyes still wide, ready to be transported someplace incredible. “You’re mine.” His right hand palms my face and I feel like I’m hanging by a thread. “Say it!” he demands.

“I’m yours . . . I’m . . . oh . . .” I’m gone, wild beneath him.

“That’s it, baby. Tell me. Show me you’re mine,” he says, egging me on. I comply in every way. Sound. Touch. I’m his . . . contract or no contract. I tighten myself around him, my final proclamation. The sound that escapes his throat brings me to my knees. “Char—goddamn.” His nose scrunches up and his lips form an “O” shape. The tip of his tongue slides over the top of his teeth and pushes against them as if its life depended on it. “Ugh,” he grunts one last time, then falls to my chest, panting. Mitch lifts his head.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly.

“About?”

“I called you Mitch.” I wince.

“Christ, Charlotte, that’s the furthest from my mind right now,” he says with a hint of irritation. I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing. He shakes his head slightly and takes in a deep breath. “Right now I just want to bask in our post-coital glow.”

“But?” I ask, showcasing my nervousness.

“
But
. . . we are going to have a
very
in-depth conversation tomorrow morning.” He grabs my chin and rocks my head side to side gently for emphasis. I reply by swallowing hard—it’s all I’ve got. He dips down and sweeps my lips lightly before pulling out. I cringe from the sudden emptiness I feel. Mitch rolls onto his back and pulls me with him. His fingers glide up and down my spine, then into my hair and back down again. The strumming of his fingers, the effects of two amazing orgasms, the stress and worry about what was to come of tonight, and the fact that I was up at four this morning with a feverish Brooklynn—I find myself in a soporific state that I can’t fight anymore.

Bonus Excerpt

My mouth was dry, like someone had shoved a fistful of cheap off-brand cotton balls in it. I ran my tongue over my teeth in an effort to wipe the film of bourbon off of them. Yawning, I rolled onto my back and stretched out in the king-sized bed before lifting the sheets back over my body. The smell of the detergent floated up to my nose, and my lips curled up. No matter how nice the suite was, the sheets always smelled like that damn hotel laundry detergent. I couldn’t
stand
that smell.

I heard someone next to me pull in a deep breath, and then the covers shifted off my body. Seconds later, I felt warm skin against mine, and then a hand wrapped around my stiff-ass dick. Fingers skimmed along its length, stopping to play with the metal bar lodged through the head.

Slowly, I opened my eyes. The sun was beaming in through one of the windows, and all I could see out of it was an overly crowded skyline. The sun glinted from the windows of the grey concrete skyscrapers competing for space; only a few slivers of blue sky managed to peep between them. I’d almost forgotten that I was in New York City. I couldn’t really recall how she’d ended up with me, and I certainly had no idea what her fucking name was. To the best of my knowledge, I guessed she’d been at the club the night before. It wasn’t out of the usual at all for me to wake up with an unknown woman beside me; it was habitual. One day, I’d probably luck out and bring back a psycho that’d try to off me, but I’d worry about that when it happened.
Most
of the time the sex was worth that small risk – at least it usually was when I could remember it.

Do I
want to look over and see what she looks like, or not?
That’s one of the pluses about not letting them stay with you; you don’t have to look poor judgment in the face.

Her grip tightened, and she gently stroked me in her hand. “Good morning,” she whispered.

I grunted and closed my eyes again. I hated when they ended up staying the night. That was never the plan because it was so fucking awkward the next morning when I was sober and trying to piece together what all we’d done. I hated having to talk to them; having to listen to them go on and on about what a big fan they are, how this is the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to them; and, worst of all, having them ask me if they can post the pictures from last night on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Fangirls, they’re just dying to brag about having been bent over backwards and rammed by me, and rightfully so. It was quite the achievement.