Page 77 of Wicked Love

He moves toward me to kiss me, and I duck, moving off of the couch. I look over my shoulder and he’s standing there, staring at my backside.

“Come find me,” I say.

The last thing I see before I race toward my bedroom is the hungry look on his face.

I smile when he stalks toward me and pulls my shirt off, tossing it back in his face.

He laughs and catches it and almost catches me, but I’m too fast. When I reach my bed, I climb on it and turn around to face him, sitting on my knees.

He points at my bra. “You forgot something.”

“Not until you’re nekkid.”

“Nekkid, huh,” he smirks.

He pulls his shirt off from the back with one swoop, and I sigh when I see the ripples of muscle, his abs, and that wide expanse of shoulders. The effect of him in my tiny bedroom is sending me into overdrive. When he looks at me, motioning that it’s my turn, I point at his pants and he sighs, pretending to be put out. But he slides them down and I take in his thick thighs, and the heavy, long length he’s dealing with. I gulp when he lowers his briefs and his cock snaps back on his stomach, hard as stone and oh, so exquisite.

When we had sex before, we were sleepy and it was dark and almost frantic, like we couldn’t get to each other fast enough. Or maybe we didn’t want to think about it too much just in case it put a stop to things.

This time I make sure to take it all in. Our gazes are exploratory, unrushed, and bold. When I undo my bra and let it drop, he stares at me for the longest time.

“Wow, Poppy,” he finally says.

He reaches down and does a long glide of his fist over his cock and it undoes me. I lift my hand up and pinch my nipple between my fingers and his Adam’s apple bobs. He advances toward me, hungrily, and I shift from my knees, still sitting up, but with my legs parted. His eyes flare and he curses under his breath.

“We’re doing this,” he says firmly.

“Thank God,” I breathe.

Any lingering doubts I may have are silenced when he kisses me again, and we don’t stop. He only pulls away long enough to put the condom on and to position himself at my entrance. I almost tell him we don’t need the condom, but his lips are back on mine when he sinks inside me. And they’re on mine when the rhythm between us intensifies and it’s hard to tell where he ends and I begin. His kisses are punishing and beautiful, like worship and like fucking, and I feel drunk on him. We move urgently, our bodies wet with sweat by the time we’re shuddering together.

“I’m waiting for you,” he says against my mouth.

And just hearing those words makes me fall apart.

True to his word, he doesn’t come until I’m clenching around him, and the ride is so perfect, so out-of-this-world, that I can’t quite believe I’m not dreaming.

Later, as we lay tangled together in my bed, I trace lazycircles on his chest. He hasn’t bolted like before, hasn’t pulled away at all.

His arm tightens around me, and for a moment, I believe that everything might just be okay. Better than okay…wonderful.

I want to stay right here for now, hoping that it’s all going to fall into place.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

SPIRALS

BOWIE

“I swear I didn’t come over here to take you to bed,” I tell her sheepishly.

I twist a strand of her hair around my finger and glide down the wave and then do it again. Her head is on my chest and I don’t want to move. Everything feels too perfect. My body is sated. Her fingers are teasing me, her leg is hitched over my thigh, and we’re still naked…I don’t want this night to end.

She leans her chin on my chest and looks up at me, grinning.

“You won’t find me complaining,” she says.

“Me either,” I say into her hair. She smells so good, like citrus and flowers.

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