Page 88 of It Happened on a Sunday
Just saying the words breaks the dam inside of me, but Sly stays where he is, gaze fierce on mine. “You’re sure?” he gasps out, and I love him for his caution. For the care he always takes of me. But if he doesn’t get his clothes off in ten seconds flat, I might just expire from unassuaged desire.
I tell him so, watching as the words hit him and wash thecaution away.
His hands slip from my back to the waistband of my pants. And then he’s yanking them down, trying desperately to yank them off. But my legs are around his waist and he’s pressed to my core and I don’t want to let go long enough for him to get them off.
He laughs then, a low, deep sound that only ratchets me up another notch. “I’m going to need a little cooperation here, corazón.” But his lips are racing across my jaw, my cheek, my neck, my collarbone, and he doesn’t seem in any hurry to pull back, either.
At least not until his lips hit the hollow of my throat and light me up like one of my concerts—fire, lights, heat, glitter,go.
I push him away just far enough to get my hands between us. “I need to touch you. I need—” The words come out like a whimper.
“I know what you need,” he growls back, and then he’s whirling us around again.
“The bedroom’s through—” I break off as his mouth latches on to mine again and I forget my own name, let alone what I was going to tell him.
“Too far,” he grinds out, moving the few steps from the window to the long dining table that takes up a whole side of the room.
He sets me down on the table, then yanks my pants and underwear down my legs with one sharp pull. But I’m trying to get his hoodie off at the same time, my hands desperate to touch all that warm brown skin, and the fabric gets tangled together.
“Stop helping,” he gasps out as he finally manages to get control of all the mixed-up pieces of clothes and tosses them to the side.
They hit the crystal chandelier above the table, and it starts swaying, then spinning, like it can’t help itself.
Light explodes in every direction, shattering against the night-darkened walls, scattering across the ceiling and floor in frantic bursts of silver and starlight. The whole room tilts around me,too bright, too fast—like the inside of a snow globe someone shook too hard. My breath catches in my throat as sparkles ricochet across my skin, Sly’s skin, and for a second, it feels like we’re spinning right along with it.
It’s chaos. It’s magic. It’s everything I shouldn’t want and everything I do all wrapped up in one. Bright, wild, powerful, alive, hot.
It’s Sly and me and this one perfectly imperfect moment, and nothing has ever felt so right.
His hands go to my tank top. My fingers go to his belt, his jeans. And then they’re gone and it’s just the two of us, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, heart to heart.
At least until he pulls away and starts kissing his way down my body.
His mouth is everywhere—on my breasts, my ribs, on the line between my heart and my navel. And then lower still, his lips and teeth and tongue making me feel things I’ve never even imagined.
And for those long, desperate moments, I swear I cease to exist. Body, heart, soul—all gone. I’m not flesh anymore, just sensation. I’m heat and glitter, rhythm and want. I’m the pounding in my throat and the shimmer crawling over my skin.
I’m the lights dancing across the ceiling, bright and breathless and free as Sly takes me higher. So high that it terrifies me to be there on my own and I reach for him.
Hands sliding over his shoulders, fingers clutching at his back, body bowing up to meet him as he holds me. Anchors me. Keeps me safe in the maelstrom of sensations and emotions tearing through me.
Because this is Sly holding me. Sly touching me. And he will always keep me safe.
As if to prove my point, he pulls away just long enough for his desire-drenched eyes to meet mine. “Still okay?” he asks, and Iknow that he’ll stop if I want him to.
But I don’t. I want more of him, want all of him.
“Please!” I gasp out as I struggle to pull him closer. “Please. I need—”
“I’ve got you, corazón,” he whispers, one shaking hand sliding against my cheek.
And then he’s moving, sliding, his fingers twisting. Stars explode behind my eyes as I go careening over the edge, straight into ecstasy.
“Sly!”
He swallows my cry with his mouth as my body convulses around him—fingers clutching, legs tightening, core clenching.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “Give me everything. Give me—”
