Chapter 149 Did you miss my cock?

Chapter 149 Did you miss my cock?
Tegan

His mouth crashes down on mine, hard and demanding, stealing the air from my lungs before I can even gasp. It’s a collision, a messy, desperate impact of teeth and tongues that tastes like pent-up frustration and raw, aching need.

I moan into his mouth, the sound muffled by the sheer force of the kiss. My hands fly up, tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, needing to erase every inch of distance that three weeks of silence created. He tastes like mint and the coffee he must have downed hours ago, but underneath that is the distinct, musky flavor of Hayes—something dark and woodsy that makes my head spin.

His tongue invades my mouth, sweeping against mine with a dominant, possessive stroke that claims me all over again. The counter digs into my lower back, but I don't care. I arch into him, my body molding against the hard lines of his chest.

The friction of his shirt against my sensitive nipples sends a jolt of electricity straight to my clit, making my thighs tremble. I can feel the rigid length of his cock straining against his jeans, pressing insistently against my belly through the layers of our clothes. It’s a blatant, physical reminder of exactly how much he wants me, and the realization floods my pussy with wet heat.

"Fuck, princess," he breathes into the kiss, the words a ragged vibration against my mouth. "I need you."

He shifts his stance, widening his legs to pull me tighter into the cradle of his hips, but I feel the subtle adjustment of his hands.

One palm slides from my waist to my lower back, pressing me forward, while the other hovers protectively near the curve of my stomach. Even in the midst of this aggressive, consuming storm, he’s hyper-aware of our baby.

It makes my heart stutter, a sharp pang of love cutting through the lust. He’s devouring me, yes, but he’s holding back just enough to keep us safe. The contrast makes my head spin, the roughness of his kiss against the gentleness of his hands on my belly.

I bite his lower lip, tugging on the flesh, needing to provoke him, needing to see that wild darkness in his eyes. He groans, a low, guttural sound that rumbles through his chest and vibrates against mine.

His hand on my back tightens, his fingers digging into my flesh, bruising and perfect. He kisses me deeper, harder, his tongue fucking my mouth with a rhythm that mimics the way he fucks my pussy, relentless, deep, and utterly overwhelming.

The smell of the turkey is forgotten. The locked door doesn't matter. The only reality is the heat of his body, the taste of his tongue, and the desperate friction of our clothes rubbing together.

I grind my hips against him, shamelessly seeking pressure on my aching clit. The coarse denim of his jeans scrapes against the soft cotton of my leggings, creating a friction that is almost too much but not nearly enough. I can feel how wet I am, my panties soaked through, making the fabric damp and clingy against my skin.

"God, please," I gasp, tearing my mouth away from his just long enough to suck in a ragged breath. "Hayes, touch me."

His hand leaves my waist, sliding down over the swell of my hip, his fingers tracing the seam of my leggings until he finds the heat between my legs. He cups me possessively, his palm pressing hard against my mound, his middle finger rubbing the damp fabric right over my clit. The pressure is electric, sending a shockwave of pleasure through my veins.

"So fucking wet," he growls, his eyes boring into mine, dark and dilated with lust. "Did you miss this, princess? Did you miss my cock?"

"Yes," I whimper, my head falling back against the cabinet as his fingers work me through the cloth. "So fucking much"

He captures my lips again, swallowing my cries as he rubs circles around my clit, the pressure perfect and maddening. I’m already so close, my body wound tight from three weeks of abstinence and the emotional rollercoaster of the last hour.

The kitchen spins, the ceiling blurring as sensation overwhelms me. His other hand cradles the back of my neck, holding me in place for his assault, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind my ear.

I can feel the tension coiling in my belly, distinct from the baby’s movements, a tightening knot of pure pleasure. He grinds the heel of his hand against my pussy, the friction sending sparks shooting up my spine.

I kiss him back with equal ferocity, our teeth clashing, our tongues tangling, a wet, messy, beautiful disaster. I am desperate for him, desperate to feel him inside me, filling me up, stretching me wide after so long apart.

"I'm going to make you forget every minute of the last three weeks," he mutters against my mouth, his voice a dark promise that makes my toes curl. "Starting right now."

He squeezes my pussy, his fingers pressing the fabric into my soaked folds, and I see stars. The aggression, the impatience, the sheer desperation in his touch, it’s exactly what I need.

We are two starving people finally given a meal, devouring each other with reckless abandon, bound together by the baby between us and the love that refuses to let us go. The turkey timer dings in the background, a shrill, irrelevant noise that we completely ignore.