Change Rein - Anne Jolin Page 0,37

sin I’ve ever wanted to indulge in. You’re my fantasy and my reality every day. I love you, London.”

“I love you, too.” My lips crash onto his, and he sucks my bottom lip between his lips in a feverish kiss.

Branson told me he loved me as we stood in a fountain, soaking wet in our clothes the night I met his parents, and it was absolute perfection.

After toweling off my hair from the quick shower I’d taken in his bathroom, I slide into the somewhat skimpy pajamas I brought with me.

“Your mama’s somethin’ special,” I tell Branson, lying down on the bed beside him.

He puts his iPad on the dresser, props himself up on his elbow, and looks down at me. “She likes you.”

“I like her, too,” I whisper, my voice faltering a little as his hand settles over the thin cotton of my shirt on my stomach.

His thumb trails over my belly button as he speaks. “She’s the one who picked out our fountain.”

My eyebrows pull together. “Our fountain?”

“The moment I told you I loved you while ruining my clothes in it, it became our fountain,” he teases.

Burrowing my head into the pillow, I laugh. “Well, your mama has wonderful taste. I love that fountain.”

“I love you.” He’s quick with the words, but his eyes light up as he says them.

Fluttering my eyes a little at the realization that this is my life, I whisper back, “I love you, Branson.”

“You better. Now”—he pauses dramatically—“do you think we could stop talking about my mom when you’re half-naked in my bed for the first time?” He grins.

I blush hard before running my fingers over the stubble on his face. “I think I could manage that.”

His fingers drag across my lower stomach, teasing the top edge of my booty shorts. “What did the doctor say about sex?” he rumbles, his voice deep and thick. “Will it hurt you?”

“The doctor didn’t mention anything about sex.” The words practically drip from my mouth in a whine.

“I guess we’ll have to be very”—he blows over the space between my legs—“very careful. Won’t we?”

Oh, lord.

THE BLUE IN HER EYES darkens as I blow over the thin fabric separating my mouth from where it so desperately wants to taste. I’ve needed her since the first time our skin touched, and not having had her yet has been one of the cruelest forms of torture. But I would endure it indefinitely if I had to. After our first kiss, I knew I would wait. That I would wait until she was ready to give all of herself to me.

I’d given her all of me long before she was ready to have it.

Kissing my way back up her stomach, I make sure to rest all my weight on my forearms so I don’t hurt her. As much as I want her, if I thought for even a fraction of a second that it would injure her, I would stop and take one hell of a cold shower.

“Branson,” she moans as I squeeze her breasts through her thin tank top.

Leaning over, I bite down on one of her perky nipples over the fabric. She’s writhing on the bed as I tease her repeatedly without taking her shirt off.

“Please.”

The plea in her voice has my already untamed hard-on pressing against my boxers. “Please what?” I croon, flicking her nipple.

“I want to feel you on them,” she whimpers, and the sound is my undoing.

Sitting up on my knees, one on either side of her slim hips, I curl my fingers into the base of her shirt. “Lift your arms.”

She obeys, eagerly lifting them above her head as I inch the cotton up. When her sweet breasts finally appear, I can’t get her shirt off her fast enough. I don’t pay attention to where I toss it in the room—it could have gone out the window for all I care.

When she lies down again, she arches her back, so I suck one of her nipples into my mouth, pinching and rolling the other with my fingers.

“Mmm. So soft,” I praise her before repeating the process.

“Ah!” Her hips buck.

My girl likes it a little rough.

“Do you like that?” I ask her, my voice thick with need. This time, I bite a little harder.

“Yesss,” she hisses, her hands grabbing at my hair.

After kissing in the center of her chest, I begin to nip and tease my way over her stomach.

“I-I-I . . .” Her words aren’t matching what her brain is trying to say, and