chapter twenty-three
HIS LIPS MEET mine with zero hesitation.
When he sighs into my mouth, it feels like relief, like he needs this long-overdue connection as much as I do. I hungrily press closer, sliding my tongue against his. Our mouths open and close against each other in an agonizingly slow rhythm. His tongue explores my mouth patiently, as if we’re going to be here all night. And maybe we are.
His finger trails my spine, curving over my bottom. The moment I let out a moan in response, a switch flips. Our kisses meet hungrily, with force and intensity. He tastes like the peach drink he was drinking in the car. Apparently, that’s my current favorite flavor, because I’m sucking and tasting, wanting everything from him. He meets my demands at the ready, filling and claiming me with his mouth.
We’re in a marathon of tongues, teeth, and grinding against each other in the hallway before we finally gather the wherewithal to move into my bedroom, peeling off our wet clothing as we go.
As I begin to shimmy his wet T-shirt upward, he stills against my mouth, hesitating. His eyes search my face, as if battling between what we want and the rules. “Are we really doing this? Breaking the conditions?”
I reassure him by practically clawing the fabric over his head to reveal the artwork that is his glorious six-pack. “Please.”
He pauses. “Even though we aren’t waiting, you know how much I care about you, right?”
I eye him, unable to stop myself from relishing this. “I care about you . . . so much it scares me,” he continues.
His fingers trace my jawline, hovering over my lips. “I think about you all the time. Every day, all day. All I ever want to do is be with you. Even if we aren’t doing anything at all.” His eyes are the color of a pond filled with lily pads, floating peacefully along the water’s surface. He doesn’t appear nervous in the slightest.
I barely have time to mutter a lame “I think about you all the time too” before he presses a kiss on my lips and tugs my wet dress over my head.
When my dress pools to the floor at my feet, my breath hitches. Even though I love my body, I’ve always been shy around others, especially guys. But in front of Scott, I feel entirely beautiful.
Every inch of my skin vibrates as his finger skims the edge of my jaw, down my neck, over the slope of my breasts, down the curves of my stomach, curling around to hook at the edge of my lace panties.
I feel cherished, worshipped, and cared for in a way I never have with anyone else. In this moment, I know this is right, regardless of rebounds and intertwined families.
“You’re perfect. Every part of you,” he whispers. His voice is rough as his eyes roam downward, drinking me in, adoring me fully and completely. I can tell how much he means it by the way he looks at me.
He cups my cheeks with both hands, his lips crashing down over mine with intensity and passion. My tongue slides back into the newly familiar comfort of his mouth before he sinks to his knees, grasping the backs of my thighs before his lips make their way down my stomach. He pulls my panties down swiftly, seemingly losing restraint before he stands again, towering over me, treating me to the perfect view of his abs, shining from the rainwater.
I have no idea how I’m even still upright, because my entire body is complete liquid under his fingers. Touching myself in front of him in the bathtub was hot, but the heat of his actual skin is an inferno. When the backs of my calves hit the edge of my bed, he slowly lowers us down, losing his pants and boxers along the way, corroborating Mel’s Big Dick Energy hypothesis once and for all.
His forearms rest on either side of my head as his lips meet mine with abandon. Then he stills over me for a moment as the steady drum of our hearts syncs, faster and faster. His lips journey down my neck, past my breasts, over the hill of my stomach, all the way down. He pushes my legs apart, teasing his tongue around my inner thighs before slipping his fingers into me, his thumb dancing and circling outside. I shudder as our moans collide together, my hand clasping the sheets.
Everything is spinning. The moment he smooths his tongue against me, I lose it completely in him and all the ways he makes me feel. My back arches upward as he holds me down against the mattress.
My fingers clench his hair, pulling him as close as possible as he continues to swirl around and around with the perfect amount of pressure. When I feel the vibration of his guttural, primal groan against me, everything goes white. Crashing. Pulsating. Wave after wave. I couldn’t tell anyone my name, my age, or where I am in this moment.
By the time I’m ready to open my eyes again, he’s hovering over me, kissing me again, gentler this time. I moan when he pulls away, wanting nothing but him close to me for the rest of my life.
I meet the safety of his gaze again. He stills on top of me, jaw tight in a way that tells me he’s losing all control. I want to be the one to push him over the edge, to test him, and most importantly, show him how badly I’ve wanted this.
It dawns on me that we need a condom. My upper half dives sideways for the side table to grab one. When my fingers find a packet, I practically whip it at him. He laughs, catching it before ripping it open. He slides it on faster than I’ve ever seen a man do.
Brushing the wayward hairs from my face, he presses a soft kiss over my beauty mark as he reaches down to part my thighs again. He holds my gaze. “Are you sure?”
All I can do is nod, distracted at the impressive sight of him.
“I didn’t hear you. Tell me louder,” he commands, not breaking eye contact.
“If you’re not in me within five seconds, I’m going to lose it,” I warn him, parroting his own words back to him.
He grins, swiftly hooking one of my legs around his waist. I open my legs slightly wider to guide him in. He pushes into me achingly slowly, exactly the way he kisses. He slides in inch by inch, moving back out ever so slightly, almost teasing. When I move against him, signaling I want more of him, he fills me completely.
He shudders over me when he feels me adjust and close in around him. He brushes his thumb over my cheek and over my lips. I run my fingers greedily over the ridges of his back, digging my nails in the deeper he goes.
“Holy shit. You feel so good.” He glides in and out, his breath like hot waves against my neck.
It’s more than how good this feels. It’s how he looks at me, all of me, washing away all my worries and fears. It’s how he gets me, knowing exactly what I want before I vocalize it. I’ve never felt connected with someone like this before. It’s a completeness I’ve never experienced. A fullness that tells me I’ll never feel empty again when it comes to this man.
With each movement, our bodies slide together like two pieces of the same puzzle, joining and melding. In this moment, I don’t know how I could ever be without him again.
As we find the perfect rhythm, moving faster and harder together, he never takes his eyes from me. He never stops communicating with me, telling me how beautiful I am or how good it feels. And when he tells me he’s close, my entire body unspools beneath him, over the edge, past the point of no return.
• • •
I WAKE UP TO the awful hissing, sputtering sound the kitchen faucet makes when the hot water is running. I press the pads of my index and middle fingers to my eyes. When I extend my legs under the covers, there’s a dull ache everywhere below the waist. It feels like I’ve done a killer leg day.
I rub the sleep out of my eyes, cracking them open only slightly to take in the stream of light bursting through the space in my blinds I always make a note to fix but never do.
Why do I feel like a nineteen-year-old the morning after a wild rager where I took down too many tequila shots off the bodies of strangers? I didn’t even drink last night.
The faint sound of Tara’s laugh and the deep, gravelly voice that prompted it echo from behind my bedroom door. I grip the duvet with a clenched fist when the realization crashes over me.
Stuck in tree. Cold rain. Breaking all the rules in the book. Mind-blowing sex. With Scott.
The memory comes back full force, like an ultra-HD movie. I remember everything. How he looked at me like he truly gave a shit. The deliciously sweet taste on his lips. How he touched me with such precision, as if we’d been together for years. His rough voice when he told me he couldn’t wait any longer. And how unapologetically loud, masculine, and guttural he sounded when he finally let himself go.
We fell asleep after the first time. Then we woke up again an hour later and had sex again to make up for lost time. It was slower, with me on top. We took our time, memorizing every inch of each other’s bodies, rocking in a near tantric rhythm, not wanting the window of bliss to end. When it was over, he wrapped me in the safety of his big arms, his embrace giving me an overwhelming peace I’ve never experienced before.
There’s a loud vibration on my side table which interrupts my incessant fond memories. I sigh, rolling out of the comfort of my cocoon to check my phone. I squint at my screen. A text message from Diana.
My stomach bottoms out. The blissful tingles flittering around my body all but disappear when I register the unfamiliar feel of this phone.
This isn’t my tacky bedazzled phone case.
It’s not my phone plugged into my charger. It’s Scott’s.