Page 98 of Igniting Sparks
Braden has been my rock since day one. Now it’s my time to be his.
I arrive at the farmhouse first and notice that Braden is not right on my tail.
Uh-oh.
I peer down the driveway. No headlights.
Stop worrying. Maybe he hit a light.
I walk into the house and slip off my heels, stretching my toes against the cool wood floor. “Damn torture devices.”
Padding into the kitchen, I see the flowers on the table and my heart melts.
I pick them up and put them into a vase, inhaling their sweet perfume.
“I see you found the flowers.”
“Crap,” I yip, damn near dropping the vase. “You scared me.”
“Sorry about that.” He leans against the counter, his chin resting in his palm. “Are you hungry? I’m going to assume you haven’t eaten yet.”
“Not unless wine counts.”
Braden winds around the island and opens the fridge. “Definitely not. I picked up steaks and wine earlier. Want to fire up the grill?”
I grab his shirt, easing him back from the fridge. “No.”
He shuts the fridge door and turns to face me. “I thought you were hungry?”
Rising on tiptoe, I wrap my hands around his neck and press a long, leisurely kiss to his mouth. “I am. For you. Let’s go to the garden. Dinner can wait. I can’t.”
The scent of jasmine wafts around us as I lead Braden to the garden. It’s a short walk, but with each step, I grow more desperate.
I step onto the soft grass and face him, his chiseled features highlighted by the full moon hanging above us.
He’s the most gorgeous man on the planet—and somehow, he’s mine.
He drags a gentle hand along my cheek, and I turn my face into the caress, twirling my tongue along his digits.
Braden leans in for a kiss, but I step back with a teasing shake of my head. “I have something else in mind.”
My hands slide over his chest, down his abs, until they reach the hem of his shirt. I tug it up, and he lifts his arms, letting me strip it away.
“I want to explore every inch of you,” I whisper, trailing my hands over his torso, my lips following close behind.
His head falls back with a groan as I drag my tongue across the curve of his pecs, my nails dancing lightly across his skin. I trail lower, tracing the ridges of his stomach, and when I reach the button on his jeans, I glance up at him.
He locks his gaze on mine, his eyes dark with hunger.
Good. He wants this as badly as I do.
“Mina,” he murmurs as I unzip his jeans, my name like a prayer in his mouth.
“Shh. Let me take care of you.” I undo his jeans and slide them down, kneeling before him on the grass.
Tonight, it’s my turn to worship him.
I wrap my hand around his cock, the skin smooth beneath my palm. I stroke his length as he bucks against me, a low groan rising from his throat.
