Dream With Me (With Me Book 4) Read Free Page B

slip into my hair.
    He goes very, very still. A heartbeat. Then two. And on the third, he lets out a low, rumbling groan that causes me to go weak in the knees. His fingers slide further into my heavy strands, wrapping around the dark curls, and he lowers his head next to my ear.
    I expect a word or two. Perhaps a hot whisper or a dark promise.
    But he doesn’t speak.
    His lips graze the shell of my ear, and this time it’s me who doesn’t move a muscle. I become even more aware of him—and of what he’s doing to me.
    His teeth play with my earring, tugging on it—and that slight pull travels down my body to the growing need clawing at me. He lets go, and the earring swings like a pendulum against my skin. His lips move down and hover over the pulse point in my neck. My heart pounds fiercely in the silence, and I want to stretch up, make skin to skin contact with his mouth.
    But I can’t.
    His hand is in my hair; the other on my breast. He holds me in place.
    I’m tethered to him.
    And then his thumb grazes my nipple as he whispers a kiss on my neck. His lips are firm, hard, yet devastatingly tender.
    I whimper. My breasts grow heavier, fuller; my nipples strain against the fabric. I’m not wearing a bra—I didn’t need to with this halter dress. There’s not many layers of clothing separating us, but it still feels like one too many. I want nothing between us.
    His hand disentangles itself from my hair, and he moves it to the front of my body, over my hip, his fingers digging into the silky green fabric of my dress. The material rustles as he gathers it until my upper thigh shows. He touches me and lets go of the dress so it falls over him to cover us. Not that there’s anyone around. We’re all alone with no one to stop us.
    Griff caresses a path upward, and a low sound of need escapes him when he feels the wetness coating me. There is no doubt how much I want him. And I wait, awareness drumming loud and insistent, because I know what he will soon discover. I’m not wearing any panties.
    He lets out a surprised grunt and kisses the side of my neck. It’s not a whisper this time. It’s hard, firm. And he keeps on kissing me as his thumb rolls over my nipple. Harder. Firmer. He keeps on kissing me, keeps on flicking my nipple, as he strokes the top of my pussy, as his thick, blunt fingers spread me, moving up and down, up and down.
    My vision blurs, and I shut my eyes, drowning everything out but the feel of him surrounding me. My breath scatters to the four corners of the Earth when he skims my clit. He notices that, pauses for a beat, and then does it again. A mere whisper of the hard, rough pad of his finger on that tight bundle of nerves shoots sparks in me. I’m an unlit fuse, waiting for the flame to hit. One sure stroke, and I’m positive I will come hard.
    But he doesn’t give me that one sure stroke. He doesn’t place the burning match to my fuse to set the rocket flying into space. Oh no, that would be too simple, too easy. And when his touch slows to the barest of caresses, I know his plan is set on blowing the world we know to pieces.
    I move into his touch, trying to ride him, to create more friction and get that release.
    He stops.

Chapter 3
    ‡
    I let out a moan of frustration. And I grab onto his wrist, the one attached to the fingers inside me. His wrist is huge, and I can barely wrap my grip around him. My thumb and pinky finger are splayed wide, and I inch my other fingers up to his knuckles. I press them, causing him to push against me.
    Yes.
    Almost . . .
    There.
    I slide a bit higher, grazing the middle of his fingers, and start to feel my wetness coating him, making his touch slick and sure. I move him against my clit, that hard, blunt, thick finger and my much slimmer one rolling over me. I rub us against me, circling tighter, harder, and faster, just the way I do it when I pleasure myself.
    His other hand leaves my breast and goes to my hand, clasping over my delicate wrist.