Page 52 of Wildest Dreams

“The bed will be more comfortable than the couch,” I try to explain, but then I hear the sound of the door closing and I pull back in surprise.

Oh.

Oh.

He closed the door with usinsideofthe bedroom.

“Oh boy,” I whisper up at him.

Our eyes lock together as he carries me back to the bed.

“Just kissing,” he repeats, his voice deep and his cheekbones ruddy. “I meant what I said. I want to wine and dine you first–”

I yank his shirt so roughly in an attempt to drag his face down to mine that he grunts in surprise and in the next second we’re both on the bed – me on my back and Tanner pushing two-hundred-and-twenty pounds on top of me.

“Fuck,” he rumbles, before cupping my jaw in his hand and meeting my mouth with a hungry kiss. My nails score down his back before sliding quickly under his soft shirt, making him curse loudly as he thrusts his hips between my thighs.

I momentarily lose my breath.

“Tanner,” I squeal, the size of his erection making me gasp.

Tanner, on the other hand, seems utterly unfazed by our size difference.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, pulling back a centimetre, just so that he can rub our foreheads together.

“I know that you said just kissing,” I whisper, “but your… down there… it’s so…”

He shakes his head, a handsome smile teasing the corner of his lips. “I’ll deal with it later,” he murmurs, and I release a huff, not exactly pleased with that answer.

He notices and grins, right before crushing his mouth back down on mine.

I whimper quietly and dig my nails into him harder.

“Ash,” he murmurs. “Let me take you to dinner.”

I arch against him and whisper, “But what if I want dessert first?”

On a rough warning growl he shoves himself back onto his haunches, and just as I think that he’s about to tell me that he’s leaving, he fully rips off his shirt.

“Holy Mother of muscle mountain,” I whisper, sparkly pink hearts shimmering in my irises. I reach out and run a knuckle down the thick valley of his abdomen, as his beautiful broad chest pumps heavily up and down.

“You like that?” he asks quietly, his own hand hovering beside mine.

After he watches me nod up at him he wraps his hand around my wrist, and I begin to slowly trail my fingers up the thick muscles of his stomach. He watches me from under his long dark lashes, and then his gaze trails up my forearm, stopping just below my elbow, to where my baby pink sleeve is pushed back.

He blinks down at the spot before gently rubbing it with his thumb.

I know exactly what he’s looking at before he even says it.

“You’ve got a love-heart freckle,” he murmurs, showing me his dimple when he meets my eyes.

I smile back at him and whisper, “It’s a secret. You can’t tell anyone.”

His dimple deepens as he grins and he dips down to kiss the tiny heart.

“I’ve never actually worn my heart on my sleeve,” I whisper. “It’s kind of ironic really.”

“I do,” he whispers back to me. “If I like something, you’re gonna know about it.”