Page 55 of I Saw Her First

“God,” he mutters, his eyes falling closed as if savoring my words. “I want that too.”

My heart leaps and cartwheels in my chest, and suddenly, after a lifetime of waiting, I’m so glad I didn’t rush this. So glad I get to do this with Weston.

Our lips collide again as he presses himself against me, hands tangling in my hair. The scratch of his beard on my cheek makes me whimper with need. His hips pin me against the kitchen island, and I’ve never felt so happy to be trapped. He can hold me down and do whatever he wants to me.

My hands stray down his firm torso, sliding around to grip his butt. I need to pull him tight against me, to feel the ridge of his erection on my belly. He’s so hard, and I can’t believe it’s for me.

Fuck.

I want to tug his sweats down, to dig my hands into his underwear and take hold of that hardness, but I don’t want to stop him from grinding it against the apex of my thighs like that. I don’t want to stop shamelessly rubbing myself against him.

His mouth devours mine in a wet, dirty kiss, tongues tangling and teeth crashing as he finally takes what he wants from me, but the way he does it feels more like aneedthan a want. Like I’m oxygen and he’s been underwater for too long. Like he’ll die if he doesn’t get enough.

I know the feeling.

Suddenly Wes’s hands grip my waist, hoisting me onto the kitchen counter, and the image of us in the darkroom flashes through my mind. My legs wind around his hips, pulling him between them, right where I want him. I don’t care if he wants to have sex here and now on his kitchen counter. I’d let him.

Instead of freeing himself from his sweats so he can bury himself inside me, he works his mouth across my shoulder, sliding the straps of my dress until they fall, exposing my lemon-yellow bra. If I’d known tonight would go this way, I’d have worn something a little sexier, but he doesn’t seem to care. His breath rushes out in appreciation as he presses his lips to my collarbone, then my chest, where he hovers, hands gently caressing the sides of my breasts through the lace of my bra. My nipples are stiff, aching peaks against the fabric, begging for his touch, and when he finally slides my bra straps down, they harden even more as they’re exposed to the cool air. Weston’s eyes are hooded as he draws one into his mouth, gently lapping at the tip with his tongue. A surge of lust rockets through me, right to my toes. It’s a heady sensation I’m not used to. I feel like I’m flying.

“Oh, fuck,” I murmur, hands threading into the waves of his hair as he works his tongue over my nipple. He cradles my other breast in his hand, thumb stroking the peak. My thighs clamp against him, hips lifting off the counter, restless with need. I’ve never had a man touch me with such expert precision, had his tongue know just how to flick me right there, to the point that I can feel the heat building between my thighs. He’s not touching me below the waist, but somehow the sensation on my nipples shocks me to my core. Is it possible to come just from this?

Before I can find out, he straightens up, arms encircling my bare waist to pull me close, into the heat of his embrace. He buries his face in my hair and holds me tight, while a deep sigh shudders from his chest. It’s like he’s forcing himself to slow down, like he’s stopping to savor it, and my heart beats harder at the thought.

With another sigh, he pulls away to gaze at me sitting on his kitchen counter, and panic flashes through me at his hesitation. If he stops now, I might cry.

“You are so fucking perfect,” he grits out.

Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine again, and his large, warm hands slide up my thighs. I shiver with anticipation, my body throbbing with the need to feel him inside me. I’ve never been so turned on, felt so needy, so desperate for a man to touch me. I spread my legs wider, inviting him in, as his thumbs nudge the edge of my panties.

“Yes,” I whimper helplessly, even though he hasn’t done anything yet, because I need him to touch me right there. I’ll burn up if he doesn’t.

His thumbs advance gently, brushing my clit through the fabric of my panties. The moan I emit is loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but he doesn’t care. If anything, his strokes slow, deliberately drawing out the pleasure.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, drawing back to gaze at me. His eyes are black pools of lust as his thumb brushes my throbbing clit again. “You’re fucking soaked.”

I squirm on the counter, trying to get more friction from his touch, but he frustratingly refuses to give it to me.

“Because I need this, Wes. I needyou. I’ve never needed anyone like I need you.”

Fuck, why did I say that? All I’m doing is reminding him of my inexperience.

I brace myself, waiting for him to pull away and tell me we need to stop, but his nostrils flare as he growls in a low voice, “Then let me fucking give it to you.”

Oh, God.Yes, please.

I reach for the waistband of his sweats, but before I can make contact, he drops to his knees on the kitchen floor. I blink in confusion until he grabs me by the hips and drags me right to the edge of the counter, hooking my legs over his shoulders and shoving my dress up to my waist.

I fall back to my elbows on the cool marble countertop, gazing at his salt-and-pepper head between my legs. His eyes are fastened to my panties, and I watch as he leans forward and drags his nose over my seam, inhaling my scent.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. The raw, animal edge to his voice makes my heart hammer against my ribs. He wants me just as much as I want him, and I’m dizzy at the thought.

In one swift motion, he tugs my panties aside and swipes his tongue through my slickness. His touch sends a shockwave of pleasure through me, and I let out a strangled sound that can only be described as a mewl.

How on earth am I going to survive this?

Wes’s head pops up from between my legs, concern etched into his brow. “You okay, baby?”

I reach out to stroke his bearded cheek, caressing the coarse hair. “Not really.” A breathless laugh escapes me as his brows slash together. He starts to rise, but I hook my heels together behind his head, keeping him in place as I laugh again. “I mean, yes, I’m fine. Good. Better than good.” Another awkward laugh. “This is just… the first time a guy has ever… you know.”

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