Page 230 of The One
My cock hardens further, the thrill of what’s coming almost too much.
“My first kiss,” she murmurs, peering up at me through her lashes.
She brushes her lips over mine again, soft, teasing, a whisper of sensation that makes me chase her and deepen it.
I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of kissing this woman.Mywoman.
“My first cannoli. My first pizza…”
A dark thought intrudes, unwanted. That night was also the first time she was shot at, and my first time experiencing real fear, not for myself, but for someone else. For her.
The memory makes my grip on her tighten, but I shove it away, locking it in the past where it belongs. I will protect her. Always.
“Yours was the first penis I saw up close and touched.”
Thank God for that!
Her palm cups my hardness over my trousers, and a strangled moan escapes me, my head tipping back.
Fucking hell.
She giggles against my mouth, knowing exactly what she’s doing. My hands slide down to her hips. This woman will ruin me. And I’ll let her.
I keep kissing her, never stopping the gentle sway of our bodies to the music. One song melts into the next, and slowly, the last of the tension unravels from my muscles. Or maybe it’s just my blood heading south.
Mari’s fingers are warm through the thin fabric of my shirt, tracing over my chest with the kind of slow, deliberate touch that sets me alight. She moves to the buttons again, and this time, I don’t stop her.
While she’s busy fighting each tiny button, my hands drift to her back, finding the zipper of her dress and tugging it down.
The moment the zipper gives, she tilts her shoulder and shimmies, the fabric sliding down her body like liquid and pooling at our feet.
Mari stands before me in sheer white lace. The candlelight casts golden shadows over her skin, highlighting every curve, every inch of her that I ache to touch and worship.
Fuck.
For a second, I forget how to breathe.
My cock is like steel and throbbing against the zipper of my pants, reminding me it needs to be part of this, and soon.
Sparks of gold flicker in the depths of her brown eyes as she stares back at me, unguarded, waiting.
“Take off your bra,” I order, my voice rough and low.
Mari doesn’t hesitate. Her fingers move behind her back, unfastening the clasp with practiced ease.
One strap slips down her shoulder, then the other, the delicate lace clinging to her skin for a breath-stealing moment before sliding lower with each inhale she takes. My eyes track its slow descent, my pulse loud in my ears.
And then, finally, it falls, landing atop her dress in a discarded heap.
I shrug off my unbuttoned shirt, the fabric barely hitting the floor before my hands are at my waistband, shoving my pants and boxers down in one swift motion. My rock-hard cock springs free and bobs against my abdomen.
Her gaze sweeps down my body, lingering, her breath catching. Mine does too.
I lift her into my arms, cradling her against my chest, and carry her the few steps to the bed.
I sit her down at the edge, my hands lingering on her hips, before pushing her to lie on her back.
She doesn’t look away when I peel her wet panties down her legs.
