Page 59 of Kiss the Bride

No. We have always been endgame. Always.

“I love you,” I say with my eyes, as he continues to drink me in as if this is the first time he has seen me. Even if I say the words aloud, he isn’t ready to hear them. “I love you.”

I know when he understands because his eyes go from curious and cautious, to twinkling with fun. I slowly move one hand across to his chest. Resisting the urge to go low, my fingers curl around and grip the neckline of his top. If he wants fun, I’ll give him fun. “I meant to ask, when did you start wearing shirts to bed?”

“When did you?” He teases, his arms around my waist, reaching for the hem of his tee.

“If it was for my benefit, it worked.” I wriggle my hips until he’s edged the tee to be bunched around my waist. Can he feel the lace of my panties? Can he sense my arousal? Do I smell the same? Does my scent remind him of all our firsts the same way his does to me?

“Huh?” I love how he gets distracted when there’s a chance for skin against skin.

“I’ve gone to sleep imagining a thousand ways to rip this from your body.” I giggle, tugging the neckline of his shirt until he isa breath away. I want more than kisses. “Confession time?” He nods. “In none of those dreams do your clothes survive.”

“Tell me more.” His breath warms my cheek as thumbs play with my panty line.

“This is my favorite of your shirts, only I don’t know if it will work.”

Reaching up with both hands, I try ripping the shirt open. In my dreams, the seams gave way and exposed his chest for my tongue. In practice, the fabric only stretches. “Damn, this was supposed to feel sexier.”

“Perhaps we should act more like a team than going solo,” Hunter gasps for breath and pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor.

This.

Him.

Us.

Yes.

I feel his desire, I can smell his desire. I see his passion and his love. This is happening. He doesn’t try to stop my fingers as they take their time to count each ab, skin on skin. Once, twice, and then three times just to make sure.

“Your turn.” Hunter’s breath is so close to my neck that I arch my head, opening the soft skin for him to taste or bite. My heart races while my body quivers from anticipation but there’s no need to rush. We have all the time in the world for the ultimate in makeup sex—erasing the last five years.

“Reclaiming what’s mine,” he says, quickly lifting my shirt—his shirt, fisting the fabric until my breasts are bare. I don’t care whether he’s reclaiming his clothes, my body or both. Whatever is mine, is his—always has and always will be.

“I never remembered you as this slow,” I tease.

“I was only an apprentice back then. Now, when a job is worth doing, it’s worth planning before excellent execution.”

“I’m a job?”

“You’re a piece of work.” He presses gentle kisses to each eyelid. “A beautiful work in progress.”

“What do you think you’ll want to do with me?”

We lie, bare chest to bare chest as he explores my body, with gentle fingertips and kisses until I’m a moaning, lusting mess, begging him to do more … take more … take it all. When he dives between my legs, I feel his hunger for more than just sex. Despite my pleas, he takes his time to taste me, and explore every new freckle that’s been waiting for his kiss.

When I wrap my legs around his neck, it’s not to keep him in place, but to drive my pussy deeper into his face until there is no Hunter or Olivia, only an us. And when his fingers join his tongue, I explode in an orgasm that feels like my first and last and the only one that will ever matter—because it’s Hunter. Because no matter what’s happened in the years we’ve been apart, nothing else matters for our present and future.

There is only us.The words are like music from my heart to my brain and back again as he licks another spasm from my core and I almost suffocate him between my thighs. Damn. How did I survive without him?

“My turn,” I say, as Hunter helps me down from my high. “I assume you came prepared?”

“Like a Boy Scout.” He leaves the bed long enough to get a condom from his wallet. “I might even remember how to put it on.”

“If you don’t, how about we figure it out, together.”

It does crazy things to my heart when his hands tremble too much to roll down the condom. I love the way I affect him, and my mouth chases his while I take over unrolling duties. I love the shape of his erection. I love the way it stands to attention and flinches at my touch. I want to love it with my tongue, butI recognize Hunter’s kisses—he’s barely holding on. Do I want him to come on me or in me? Do I want to taste him, or feel him?

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