Imperfectly Delicious (Imperfect Series #6) - Mary Frame Page 0,56

gymnast?”

“Nope. I have the girls, so I don’t bring home strangers. It would confuse them. And oddly, I haven’t met or had many women with condoms hiding in random locations when I needed it.”

I shrug and lean my head back while he runs his nose up the side of neck, giving me shivers. “I like to be prepared.”

“I really appreciate that.” Soft kisses drop all over my skin like rain, peppering the corner of my jaw, underneath my ear, then his lips brush over my cheek, corner of mouth, sensitive hollow of my neck. “I really appreciate this, too,” he murmurs. One hand slips up my inner leg and my breath falters.

“Guy.” My voice catches when his fingers slip along the ridge of arousal, feeling how wet and ready I am for him. Sliding his knuckle up and down my folds, until I’m panting and moving my hips against him.

On a curse, he rips the condom wrapper with his teeth, and then he’s there—hot and hard and I think I might kill him if he doesn’t put it in me now, but he slows down, the head teasing my entrance.

“Guy,” I repeat, his name on my lips is part whine and part demand. If he drags this out any longer, I might literally die. The craving sinks into my skin and takes up a pulse between my legs and everywhere.

Arms around him, I grip him around the waist hard. Hands clenching—and after a few torturous seconds of holding on and breathing, he moves. Oh so slowly, presses into me.

My eyes fall shut.

He stops. “Scarlett.” I force my eyes open and they lock with his, the bright green infiltrating my entire view.

Once our gaze is secure, he surges in the rest of the way and then stops, filling me up, his entire purpose directed at me, showering me like a wave.

“Heavens to Betsy,” the exclamation comes out on a breath of air.

His head falls onto my shoulder and the warm puff of his laughter tickles the curve of my neck “Who is Betsy?” he lifts his head to meet my eyes.

“All the Southern I’ve tried to repress tends to fall out when I’m . . .” I search his eyes. “Overcome.”

His smile is crooked and happy and something in my chest twists the longer we gaze at each other while he’s seated inside me.

Then he starts thrusting, slowly pulling out and driving back in, and I think I leave my body because nothing and no one has ever felt this good. I clutch his shoulders, running my hands down his back to his rear, yanking him closer. He smells like pine, mixed with the sugary vanilla scent of the truck.

He angles his hips and pushes into me, hitting the perfect spot, his lips trailing over my neck, lifting a thumb to my breast to gently tug at my nipple through my shirt, the motion pushing me right over the edge where I was hovering anyway.

I cry out, my arms going around his shoulders to hold him closer as the release pounds through me and then his pace increases and he shudders against me, tumbling over the ledge.

I keep my eyes shut, my head in the crook of his neck, his arms around me while I wait for my breathing to moderate.

When my senses return, I lift my head and glance around. The back door is open a half inch. We still have on most of our clothes. This was a conflagration of passion. Of everything I want and everything I fear. What if I could have it all? The passion and the love, the stable comfort…without losing myself in the process?

He pulls away and turns to dispose of the condom. I slide off the counter and blink dazedly, stuck in a post-orgasmic haze.

I’m never going to look at this counter the same ever again. I really need to remember to sanitize.

And with those thoughts, come an avalanche of concerns. What have I done? I let myself get carried away, with dreams of hearts and sweetness and love, but I know better. This can’t end well. He wants to get rid of me. What if he uses this as a piece of control? Just like every other person I’ve fallen for.

But then he’s there, his arms coming around me and pulling me into his chest. “You need help cleaning up?”

I pull away slightly to scrutinize him. His green focus is warm, like a spring day in the middle of December.

“Yeah,” I say.

He

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