Page 72 of Late to Love

I place my fingers in his palm, and he encircles them with his own. Wordlessly, I rise, my own napkin falling to the floor as he pulls me gently to his bedroom.

As we cross the threshold, my heart thrums, caught between wanting to take flight and wanting to burrow into Anthony’s body and make itself at home there. The way he looks at me…holy shit. He lifts his hands, then cups my chin, tipping it up to his mouth and capturing my lips with his. His beard scrapes my skin, and I relish the feel.

I wrap my hands around his waist, guiding them beneath his shirt to roam across the expanse of his skin, the feel of coarse hair tickling my palms, the sound of his sharp inhale as I gently pinch his nipples. “I need your skin,” I murmur.

He obeys, pulling his shirt off and then going for mine, the two of us tugging it off simultaneously. His hands thread through my hair, pushing it away from my face and down my back. “This hair of yours,” he whispers. “Do you know how I fantasized about it? Wanted so badly to see it down, to feel it between my fingers? So fucking soft and silky.” He nuzzles my neck, and I go on my tiptoes to give him better access, releasing a gasp as his teeth graze my ear.

His hands roam farther, rounding my ass and squeezing before tucking his thumbs into the skirt and pushing it down my thighs. “And this skirt. Jesus, woman—did you wear this on purpose?”

I moan as his lips find the tender flesh of my breast and suck, holding him in place. I want the mark, want to be branded by him. “I did,” I admit, digging my nails into his hair and scraping his scalp just like he loves.

He groans, dipping as his knees bend to pull the skirt the rest of the way off. He divests me of my shoes, then straightens, hissing as I grab for his dick through the sweatpants. “Didyouwear these on purpose?”

His answering chuckle is dark and knowing. “Of course I did. Now lay on the bed and let me look at you.”

I obey, not interested in being punished this evening. Only worshipped.

“Every curve is so fucking sexy,” he says, his bobbing cock providing irrefutable proof.

“Touch yourself,” I whisper.

He smirks. “Dip your finger into that pussy and show Daddy how wet you are.”

I squirm. “Fuck, that’s hot.” I don’t hesitate, pushing a finger through my folds and displaying my arousal for his inspection.

“Lick it off, sweetheart.”

I give him the show he wants, raising my finger to my mouth and sucking it in, closing my eyes to clean it and releasing with a pop.

“Good girl,” he praises, fisting his cock and giving it a slow pump. “You gonna take them off for me? Let me see that glistening pussy?”

I start with my bra, then move to the lacy panties, and when I spread my legs for his perusal, my core goes absolutely molten at the way his eyes darken to a forest green with lust. I squirm again, needing relief, and he notices.

“Tell me what you want, Darcy Belle.” His voice is dark with promise. “I’ll give it to you.”

“Say it again.” I need to hear it.

He climbs onto the bed, crawling over me with the grace of a dancer and lowering himself between my legs. His cock lays heavy on my abdomen, and he thrusts against my core slowly, giving me the pressure I’m so desperate for. Our eyes don’t leave each other as he repeats, “I love you, Darcy.”

I exhale, squeezing my eyes shut with relief for a brief moment, and when I open them, it’s to see him studying me with an intensity I’m not sure I’ve ever seen out of him. “I love you, Anthony.”

He kisses me then, and in seconds, he’s positioning his cock to push into me, the both of us gasping for air around the kiss. He feels different, somehow. Bigger, filling me even more than before. And when we come together, his release spilling inside of me, I hold him to me, unwilling to let him move.

Chapter26

Anthony

IS THIS WHAT normal people feel all the time? This…peace? I think that’s what it is.Thisis what I’ve missed all these years? All because of one woman. A woman I am head over heels for.

Yeah, this is good shit. I’ll take it. I’ll take it all damn day.

The past two weeks have been amazing. I’ve seen Darcy almost every night, sometimes with her at my place, and sometimes me visiting her tiny cottage, spending time in the workshop and watching her work. She’s already gotten an order for a pool table from some fancy celebrity in California, and the way she lit up when she told me about it…that might have been one of the best feelings in the world. If she’s happy, I’m happy.

Tonight is bowling team night, and Darcy’s been at her place working on the pool table order most of the day. I don’t see her until she struts in, sporting the Hall’s Balls shirt as her hips swaying beneath yet another form-fitting red skirt that makes my mouth water. The shirt is tied just above the waistline of her skirt, revealing a tantalizing strip of skin every time she moves. Her hair is done up in some kind of curled ponytail thing, glossy and bouncy, and those velvet red lips curve into a smile when she sees me.

I slide the cocktail across the bar in greeting.

She looks down at it, considering. “It’s a Paloma.”

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