Page 45 of The Rest is History
Elodie Peach.
I need more. My hands want to be everywhere. My mouth wants to map every inch of her exquisite body. I tug off her hood and chuck it on the floor, and my hand delights in fusing its skin to the perfect skin of her neck.
Oh dear fucking God, her neck.
I rotate my head, deepening my access to her mouth, and I hold her to me. As my fingers stroke roughly down her neck and my tongue thrusts hungrily inside her mouth, she tugs me closer and gives a breathy little whimper that’s definitely the best sound I’ve ever heard.
I may die.
I may fucking combust.
Anger has ignited as desire, irritation morphing into utter awe that a woman can be this delectable. This all-consuming. Where I end and she begins, I don’t know. I’m lit up from within, lost in a blaze of need.
My fingers fumble with her hair tie so I can free up that glorious mane. When it’s off, her silky hair blankets my hand. I smooth down it before wrapping it around my hand and pulling, and she whimpers her approval.
‘Charlie.’
She moans my name into my mouth and it nearly undoes me right there. I need more of her—definitelyneed to hear the singular miracle of my name on her lips like that again—but this fucking costume of hers is a full-body chastity belt. My hands slip under the curtain of her hair, smoothing their way in tandem down the swanlike column of her neck as I continue to kiss her thoroughly.
Desperately.
They move along her collarbones, over strands of pearls, and attempt to slide the square neckline of her dress down over her shoulders, but there’s no give in this damn thing. The fabric is stiff, the fit tight.
I pull away from her mouth with great reluctance and study her.
She is a sight for sore fucking eyes.
Lips swollen, eyes glazed with desire, her chest heaving as she attempts to catch her breath. Her arms still encircle my neck, and I smile down at her in wonder.
I drag a thumb over her wet lower lip. ‘So beautiful,’ I tell her, and spend a fraction of a second revelling in the delight that spreads over her face before I’m moving around her. Behind her. Lifting that curtain of hair and draping it over one shoulder to expose the neck that has haunted my nights and tortured my days for so many months.
Finally.
My hand slides around her waist and pulls her back against me as my nose and mouth lower themselves to the skin of her neck and I inhale like a dying man.
Dear God. Her scent is perfection. Utterly intoxicating.
My palm splays over her stomach, holding her to me as I kiss the neck I fell in love with.
I’ve found nirvana.
I kiss.
I lick.
I suck.
I nip.
I worship these few inches of skin like they’re the best meal I’ve ever had, as this beautiful woman writhes against me, her head bowed, her hand on mine, pressing it even more flush against her stomach.
Still need more.
And I know she does, too.
I extract my hand from under hers and drag it up over her bodice to her breast. My fingers dip into her cleavage, and she pushes her ass back against me.
‘Yes?’ I murmur, my lips humming against her neck.
