up my outer thighs.
“I want to be with you.”
A faint shiver runs through his body, so faint I almost think I’ve imagined it. He presses his lips to my neck. “And God help me, but I want you too.”
I run my fingers over his scalp and he gives a low groan. “That’s not a crime.”
“Considering that your brother will kill me for it, yes, it is.”
There’s a million things I want to ask. Why does he think Cole will react so strongly? What parts of himself does he hide? But then his lips find mine and the thoughts float away, with nothing left to anchor them.
His kiss is different this time. It’s deep, slow, tender. I kiss him back just the same, pouring out all the emotion I’d tried to hide from him before. Yes, I tell him with my lips. I like you. Always have. Probably always will.
His body shudders against mine when I take his hand and guide it to my breast. If it gives him permission or strength, I don’t know, but a second later I’m lifted up against his body and carried slowly through my apartment.
Something tells me it’ll be different this time. That the way our bodies yearn to be closer is deeper, that our conversation is still continuing, just with our touch as the language of choice.
Come here, I tell him with my hands on his shoulders. Don’t be afraid.
I’m not, his mouth responds, kissing me so deeply there’s no denying his passion. I’m afraid for you.
And when he strips the dress from me, when I lie there in nothing but my underwear and his dark gaze, I feel more comfortable than I ever have before. Look at me, I tell him, stretching my hands above my head and arching my back. All yours.
His hands are reverent when they touch the edge of my bra, searching around my back for the clasp. He teases the fabric off my skin and replaces it with his lips. They’re warm and soft when they close around my nipple.
That such a simple thing can be felt so strongly is magic. It spreads through my body, through my torso, heat pooling in my stomach and lower still. I grip his head and lose myself in the sensation.
I’m dimly aware of his hands finding my panties, of them being tugged down my legs, of his mouth meeting mine again. “Let me go down on you,” he murmurs, his fingers searching between my legs. I gasp as he presses down with the heel of his hand. “You can tell me to stop if you need me to. Anytime.”
“Okay,” I whisper, because there’s no resistance left, and because being self-conscious around Nick is impossible. He chases all such thoughts away.
And when he settles between my legs… well, for the first time, I don’t instinctively seek to close them. The skin of my thighs against his tanned shoulders excites me instead. So does his dark hair, his large hands finding my hips to hold me, not to pin, but to secure.
And when he puts his tongue to use… well, I close my eyes and surrender. I force the thoughts away, like I’ve tried to do so many times before, and amazingly… they obey. My self-conscious brain doesn’t stand a chance against his strength.
His movements are slow, leisurely. So is his tongue. And for the few moments he lifts his mouth from me to speak, those words… they’re like a balm across my skin. Compliments. About how good I taste, how he could do this forever, how he enjoys this.
We’re still carrying on the conversation from earlier, all right. And perhaps this is his way of saying things he can’t yet. I drink it in for what it is, and under his hands, I come apart.
It’s slow, at first, the building of pleasure. So gradual I’m afraid of acknowledging it for fear it’ll grow wings and fly away. But it doesn’t. He grounds it, teasing my body, making himself at home between my legs. And when he uses his fingers to push inside of me at the same time as his tongue…
It surprises even me, the force of my orgasm. It sweeps through me with a power that leaves my back arched and limbs weak, forcing Nick to press down strongly against my hips.
Stay, is the message, even as my body is going and going and keeps going.
And I know then that whatever little crush I had on Nick is long gone. It’s evolved