Very Wicked Things
Page 58

“Are those dandelion seeds?” I asked in awe, tracing my finger over the glass where the puffy white stalks lay.
“Yeah,” he said. “You mentioned how much you loved them, and, well, I had this idea to put the seeds in a necklace, so you’d always have your wishes right next to your heart.”
“I love it,” I breathed, draping the long chain over my neck, letting it rest in the cleft between my breasts. I laid my hand over it protectively.
His phone pinged, and he stiffened as he checked the sender.
“You gotta go?” I asked.
“I don’t want to,” he said, a torn expression on his face.
“Kiss me instead,” I whispered.
Our lips connected, and the outside world faded, leading us down a path we’d been on since the day he’d sat down at my table. God, yes. I wanted this. Him.
“Come here,” he said after a while, scooting his seat back and then tugging me over the gearshift. The area was hardly big enough to move with his massive body, but I managed to get my knees on either side of him. I lifted my dress up at the hem and slipped it over my shoulders, the soft silk falling to the car floor.
He froze.
I unsnapped my pink lace bra and let my breasts fall out. His eyes got a dreamy look in them. “Dovey?”
I ran a nail down his shirt. “I want to see you naked so I can ride you like a cowgirl.” I immediately blushed at my words.
He grabbed my hands. “What are you doing, Dovey? Explain.”
“I’m giving myself to you. Tonight,” I murmured, grinding my hips on him, making his eyes glaze over. “It’s killing me to not belong to you…body and soul.”
“Fuck,” he said, wide-eyed and panting, until finally, he lunged for me, taking my mouth hard, dragging his hands through my hair, adjusting my head at the angle he wanted.
“Dovey, you make me crazy,” he said thrusting up, rubbing against me in the most delicious way. He said my name over and over in-between kisses as he touched me, his hands ghosting over every inch, touching my legs, the curve of my hips, my face.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered, raining kisses on my neck, dining on my tender places, but inside, I begged him to take it further, and he did, his mouth capturing my hardened nipple. I gasped at the way he held me with one hand, flush against him, while his mouth wreaked havoc on my breasts.
I melted into him like a piece of chocolate on a summer day.
We’d passed the point of no return. I was ready. But was I? Was I? WAS I?
Was I pushing this, hoping to hold on to him?
He fumbled around with the seat and finally, blessedly, we lay back. His hand went underneath the back of my panties, splaying over my ass, and I shivered.
“When you wear that necklace, make a wish for us, that we make it,” he whispered in my ear, and I detected the same need in his voice I felt in my body. He tried to say more, but I shushed him with my mouth, coasting down his chest, my tongue exploring him. All the way down to his defined abs, where I teasingly bit the snap to his jeans. Yes, yes.
His phone pinged again, and I paused, waiting, but he either didn’t hear it or ignored it.
He rose up so he could get out of his jeans and tight boxers. He threw them in the back and breath left me. Wits left me. Naked Cuba made me feel out of control and wild and insatiable.
How would I ever live if he left me?
He tugged me back up to him until I lay against him. He framed my face. “Is this too soon?”
“I trust you,” I said, but that wasn’t true. We needed more time. But I was too afraid of waiting.
“Let me make you feel good,” he whispered, sliding my panties off and finding the most secret part of me with his hands. I whimpered at his attention, at the way he worked me like an instrument, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, using the heel of his hands and his fingers in tandem, making me gasp.
He knew just what to do, and my need grew bigger, my hands more insistent as I clutched his shoulders. I felt myself building to release, my body pulsating in sync with him. I’d come before by my own hand, either in the shower or under the covers in my bed, but nothing like this. Because this was insane, a pounding of my body that screamed for reprieve. Tension made my body tighten, and the edge of the cliff was right there—but it kept slipping away.
Because even though he was gentle and taking care with me, too many questions flitted through my mind. About us. About trust.
“Stay with me,” he said, kissing my shoulder. “Let go. I’ll catch you. Every single time.”
His promise sneaked right into my heart and took up residence. Yes.
And as layer upon layer of heat and fire built up in me until finally, it all came crashing down in a fiery crescendo. My spine snapped back and arched, the undulations racking my body, sending me into an out of control spiral of the best kind.
“I love you,” he cried out, his eyes watching me as I went over, and yes, yes, yes, I believed his declaration. I did. The need, the hunger, the desperation, all of it was there. And my heart soared.
He clutched me to him and I clung, limp, coasting down from my high.
“You said you love me,” I said, my voice trembling, full of wonder.
He pulled me into the crook of his shoulder and rubbed my back. “Did I?”
I slapped him playfully on the chest, and he pretended to be hurt.
“Don’t beat me up. I just gave you a necklace and the best orgasm you ever had,” he teased.