Page 80 of Imperfect Arrangement
Thank fuck.
“I can smell you and I’ve barely touched you. That’s the difference between a man and a vibrator. You trust me?”
This time, her nod is immediate, and it fills a crevice in my heart with warmth. I place her hand over her stomach, covered by the thin, faded maroon T-shirt.
“Touch yourself.”
“Ray, I?—”
“Shh. Just do as I say.” My hand covers hers as I push our hands beneath the elastic waistband of her cotton shorts and descend lower. I guide her fingers to gently rub against her sex through her cotton panties. Her breath hitches and my eyes don’t move from her face.
Willow Pershing is a vision when she’s hot and turned on.
She starts to rush with her fingers, but I tighten my grip.
“No rushing. The buildup is half the fun.” I continue to play the slow game. Caressing her face with my nose, caressing her sex without directly touching her.
Moments later, she’s panting and I’m not far behind. I haven’t been more turned on in my whole life. It’s frustrating, but everything is when it comes to this woman.
When my lips finally crash into hers, there’s nothing soft or sweet between us. The pent-up frustration of all the past months finally finds a reprieve. I want her, and even if she claims otherwise, the way her mouth yields to mine, in this moment, Willow wants me too.
Her lips are tender, soft, and her tongue…damn her tongue. Wet and eager as it meets mine, and my self-control starts to crack.
The feelings are too much, the emotions too high, and everything is too fucking perfect.
We are past buildup. I push into her, taking more of her, trying to steal as much of her taste as I can. My fingers above hers are in tandem—relentless, yes, but in complete sync. As if our hands are two pieces of a common system. Her free hand drifts to my forearm, and she scrapes her nails against my skin.
“Ray,” she groans against me. “Fast. Please.”
It’s an amazing feeling to be wanted, desired by the woman who has become the limelight of your fantasies.
“I’m going to touch you now.”
She moves her hand away, and that’s enough confirmation for me. Within the next second, I’ve pushed down her shorts and panties, and my fingers make their first contact with the velvety skin of her sex, damp with arousal.
She’s so beautiful and so surprisingly willing.
Her head falls back against the pillow, exposing her slender throat, and I take the opportunity to lick down her column and bite on her skin.
“Yes,” she whispers. “More, Ray.”
My mouth sucks her skin, licks across her collarbone, tracing my tongue over the tattooed lines that meet her skin there.
“I’ll give you what you want in exchange for a truth.” I kiss my way to her jaw, then bite her earlobe. “Why the tattoo of a willow tree?” I make my way down again, to her collarbone, pushing down the neck of her T-shirt just enough to expose the tattoo that has haunted me since her first night in the house.
I don’t know if she heard me, because Willow rubs her sex against my fingers in a fast-paced rhythm, making me wonder if her pussy tastes as sweet as the rest of her.
“Answer, Willow, or I’m going to stop,” I say, even though stopping is the last thing on my mind. I take her mouth again, drawing sweet little moans from her into my kiss, which deepens when I sweep my tongue incessantly again in her mouth.
I’m greedy, possessive, burning in her want. Not just for the night, though. I want Willow Pershing for much longer than we agreed on. Before my mind can get lost in the battle of wants and reality, I pull an inch away from her, even bringing my fingers to a halt.
“Answer or I’ll stop.”
Her eyes meet mine, the curtain of lust dropping for a second. I worry she’s going to put an end to the night, but she once again surprises me.
Willow drops her gaze and whispers, “It’s to remind me that Whispering Willow is not just a business. It’s my responsibility. My grandparents’ legacy.”
I can read her well by now. That’s how I know she might not have exactly lied to me, but she’s left a big part of the truth out of her response.
