Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [61]
Adam’s granite countertops were high enough that when he pulled Miranda forward to rest her ass against the edge, the heavy bulge in his jeans notched right into the lace-covered center of her.
He jerked at the first contact, a hot burst of friction and pressure that shot fireworks off behind his closed eyes. Miranda liked it, too, if the soaking heat against his erection was any indication. Adam inhaled the smell of her desire, musky and rich, and had to get his hands on it.
Dividing his attention between the tight knot of her nipple in his mouth and the tactile feast of lace and the crisp, damp curls over her pussy was like trying to expedite five different tables at once, but he managed it.
But when he thumbed aside the panties and got his fingers right on the wet, silky heart of her, Adam could do nothing but gasp against her breast and zero all his focus down to the first three fingers of his right hand. He petted her softly, learning the shape of her folds and the miraculously smooth texture of her skin down there. Miranda bumped her hips up against his hand, once, twice, as if she couldn’t help herself.
When he glanced up at her face, her eyes were glazed with passion, her red mouth slack and moist. That gorgeous pink flush he loved so much was all over her face and spreading down her neck to the tops of her pretty breasts.
“Gorgeous,” he choked out. “You are so . . . Miranda.” He was at a loss, helpless in the face of so much beauty, all laid out like a banquet for Adam in his own kitchen.
She panted something too low for him to hear.
“What?”
Miranda lifted her head, slowly, as if it weighed a hundred pounds.
“Adam. Show me.”
He dimly remembered some extended joke about etchings, but he didn’t think that’s what Miranda meant. There was something flashing in her wide blue eyes, a flicker he’d seen in her before, but never so strongly. Her whole body was tensed, poised on the brink, as if she were about to take flight and soar up into the unknown.
Adam thought maybe she needed a little push to get her there. It made his heart pound a fast drumbeat to think that maybe he could be the guy to do it.
He flexed his fingers, still buried in her heat, and took her mouth at the same time as he took her deeper. Two long fingers slid into her fist-tight sheath, his thumb searching out the supersensitive bundle of nerves at the top of her slit.
Rubbing rhythmically just to the side of her clit, he plumbed the depths of her clenching pussy and sucked her groan of pleasure into his mouth. Her hands fisted on his shoulders, nails clawing him through his shirt.
Miranda writhed on his hand and he pumped her harder, passing his thumb directly over her clit to make her jump. A delicate touch right there, then a harder caress in a circle all around it, then back again until his probing fingers felt the first flutter of Miranda’s orgasm in the walls surrounding them.
Her inner walls clamped down on his invading fingers. She stiffened as if paralyzed. A rush of slick warmth and a pained cry, and Miranda unraveled in Adam’s hands.
Adam crushed the iron rod of his cock into the edge of the counter and came in his pants for the first time since Monica Pettuci shocked the hell out of him by actually touching his dick.
* * *
Polishing glassware was oddly soothing. The soft cloth, the hot steam from the kettle, the repetitive motion, the instantly sparkling results—Jess never minded being put on glass duty.
Perched on a stool with one foot hooked over the top rung, he could sit comfortably for hours, polishing and stacking the finished glasses carefully atop the bar. As he watched the cloth go around and around, his mind followed the circles in a dreamy pastiche of disconnected images and impressions.
He thought of the bright yellow peonies in the blue ceramic vase on Miranda’s table and the bunch of multicolored flowers with the same burst of small petals that always used to sit on the mantel in the living room of the house they grew up in. That led him to the talcum-powder-and-cinnamon