places a firm grip on my hips, as if to drive his meaning. “You have to say it,” he says, his voice a soft growl. It’s tender, rough, and needy.
And then he pushes forward, the evidence of his arousal, thick and hard, aligns with my stomach. My lips part on a whimper, fire tearing through me. Holy hell.
“I want you,” I admit with certainty. I’m 100 percent clear I want this.
His hand sweeps behind me to the nape of my neck, giving my hair a light tug and angling my head toward his. Slowly, his mouth dips and his lips weld to mine. His kisses… oh God, these kisses penetrate the darkest, neediest part of me, and I willingly surrender myself to him completely. His touch is deep, erotic, and everything I didn’t know I needed.
Somewhere along the way from the door to my bed, his jacket and shirt is discarded by large impatient hands, his mouth never parting from mine. With his belt undone now, his jeans hang low on his hips. His mouth is on mine until he breaks the kiss and assaults my neck and collarbone as I attempt to get my shirt off.
But I pause, my hands shaking at the hem. Anxiety tightens my throat. I never like this part. When they see my scar, my reality, my constant battles of insecurity. Wanting to keep his eyes from drifting to my chest, I manage to sneak my hand between us and inside the front of his jeans, stroking the smooth hardness between his legs. He’s hard and bigger than I would have thought, but I have little experience with this.
I stroke gently. He groans and slumps forward, burying his face in the curve of my neck. As he shudders against me, his hips begin mimicking the thrusts of my hand as I quicken my pace.
Wanting to taste him, I sink to my knees and work on unzipping his jeans. With a shake of his head, his hand juts out and catches me by the elbow. He pulls me back to stand in front of him. His jaw clenches, working through something. What I’m not sure.
“You shouldn’t be on your knees for anyone,” he whispers, his eyes blazing with desire he seems to be containing. “Especially me.”
Marry me? No, seriously, if he proposed, I’d elope tonight.
I’m not entirely sure what to say, or if I need to say anything to him. It’s sweet of him, right? Hesitation takes my voice and my nerves with it. I stand there, unsure what to do next. He lifts my shirt over my head, his stare never parting from mine.
As if he senses my apprehension, he gently places his hand on my chest, giving me a nudge to lay back on the bed. As I’m spread out and ready for him to claim my body, he watches me with rapt attention. Does he see the scar? The damaged girl on borrowed time?
Blinking slowly, I don’t see anything but desire from him. He’s been on a fishing boat with men for the last two weeks. I doubt he cares what I look like at this point.
Hastily, he kicks his boots off, then lowers his jeans. I catch sight of him there, but the lack of light obscures my vision from truly taking him in. Muscles shift powerfully, bulging tendons stretch tight as he hovers over me.
Curtsey of the string lights stapled to my window above my bed, I see the appreciation and awe as he takes me in. With every inch he covers, it’s more apparent I don’t need to be shy around him, and this has more to do with him wanting me, rather than just sex.
Bending at the elbows, he trails kisses down my stomach, the sweep of his hair along my skin, making me squirm and smile. Before I know it, he’s between my legs. I startle at the friction of his stubble between my thighs. His warm tongue caresses right where I want him most. Even though I find it hard to relax when his face is between my legs. It feels awkward and unfamiliar, yet his tender touches from rough hands wander over every inch of my heated skin and leave me breathless for more.
With a growl, he spreads my lips open, his tongue sweeping over my clit. I jump, unprepared for the electrifying pulse it sparks inside me. I stare up at my ceiling, breathing through it.