have predicted a set of circumstances that would bring us into each other’s lives like this, let alone to this point. It feels . . . different. Like there’s significance in every single touch and caress, and I feel the sharp bite of guilt over not being completely honest with her about who I am. But I won’t ruin it now, not when she’s shared something so obviously painful for her. Not when she’s here, looking for me to take it away for a while in whatever way I can.
“You’re gorgeous.” I smooth my hands down the sides of her neck and kiss her.
“We never got to smell,” she murmurs against my lips.
“I smell mint and cucumber shampoo.” I brush my nose along the column of her throat. “And the sweetness of your vanilla lotion. What about you?”
“I smell need and lust and wanting.”
“We should do something about that, shouldn’t we?” I settle my hands on her waist.
“Yes, please.”
I kiss her again, and this time restraint becomes unnecessary. Like every other time we’ve kissed, it’s as if someone has flicked a lighter in an ocean of gasoline. She wraps herself around me, and I have to coax her to loosen her hold. “I want to taste every inch of you, Lainey, starting right here.” I touch a finger to her lips and drag it down between her breasts. “And I’ll make a stop here, before I continue”—I draw a line straight down, circling her navel, and stop at the waistband of her leggings—“under here. Do you think that would be a good sensory calming exercise?”
“I guess we’ll have to try it out to see if it works.” She gives me a tentative, saucy grin.
And I make good on my sensory exploration promise. We undress each other slowly, savoring the experience. I kiss every bare, sweet inch of her, spending the most time between her thighs, licking and kissing until she’s writhing under me and calling out my name as an orgasm rolls through her.
I’m fully prepared for that to be where it ends, but Lainey tugs me back up and wraps her legs around my waist. She’s already slick from my mouth and her orgasm. “Lainey,” I groan when I settle against her, warm and wet.
“I want to know what it feels like to have you inside me.”
I lift my head and meet her hazy, lust-soaked gaze. “Are you sure? We don’t have to—”
She looks suddenly unsure. “You don’t want to know what I feel like from the inside?”
“That’s not—” I have to clear my throat. “Yes. Of course I do, I just don’t want you to feel pressured—”
“I don’t feel pressured. I feel like I’m under pressure. Like one of those mints dropped into a bottle of soda and shaken with the top on. That’s what it’s like when you kiss me, so I want to know what it’s like when you’re in me.”
“Is this . . . have you . . .” I don’t know how to ask without making it awkward.
She tips her head to the side, brows furrowing for a moment until they pop back up. “Oh! You think—” She bites her lip. “I’m not that inexperienced, RJ.”
There’s no good way to respond, so I drop my head and kiss the side of her neck. “I just wanted to be sure, and I want this to feel good for you—for both of us. Let me grab a condom.” I’m grateful that there’s one in my wallet, because the box I bought the day after I met Lainey—hopeful that at some point we’d get here—is upstairs in my nightstand.
I kneel between her thighs, and Lainey sits up, taking the foil square from me. She strokes me a few times, then bends to kiss the head, wetting it with her lips before she tears the wrapper open and rolls the condom on. It’s sexy and sweet and so damn hot. Especially when she straddles me, positions me at her entrance, and sinks into my lap.
This is nothing like our frantic make-out sessions. It’s slow and gentle, a leisurely climb to the peak. When I feel myself getting close, I still her with my hands on her hips and kiss her as a distraction. Over and over, I balance at the edge and back off until Lainey can’t stop the orgasm from stealing her breath.
I flip her over so I can keep the rhythm, chasing down my own orgasm. I try to bury my face against her neck, but