Page 46 of Dearly Unbeloved
Rose and I stand up, and I gather our trash into a pile, dropping it in the garbage cans and recycling bins.
I watch as Rose says something to Kai and then turns, walking back toward me. She wraps her arm around my waist with an impressive familiarity, and heat spreads over me from the spot where her fingers clasp my hip.
“I think we’re going to hang out here for a bit,” Rose says, and I swear she struggles to drag her eyes away from me. “You guys go ahead. We’ll catch up with you.”
“You sure?” Imogen asks, and Rose nods, waving goodbye as they traipse back onto the trail.
I look up and find her watching me, her eyes blazing. “What are?—”
I don’t get the chance to finish, because she fists her hand in my hair and pulls me in close, capturing my lipswith hers. She groans into my mouth, the sweet taste of strawberry and peanut butter flooding my tongue. God, I could just drown in her—in thetasteof her. Not her.
She nudges me until the backs of my legs hit a bench, but I don’t sit down. I spin us so she’s pressed against the bench and break away from her, dropping to my knees at her feet.
It’s been two weeks since we first slept together, and though she’s touched me plenty, she’s barely let me lay a finger on her. It’s killing me.
“Please,” I beg, looking up at her flushed, rosy cheeks and dark eyes, my heart pounding. “Please let me taste you.”
Rose doesn’t take her eyes off mine as she kicks off her shoes and pushes her leggings down. It’s bold, bordering on stupid, considering her colleagues could double-back at any second, but I can’t think about that. Not when she sits down and spreads her legs. Her underwear is white and sleek, with a wet spot that would have me on my knees if I wasn’t already here.
I place my hands on her knees, shuffling closer, but she stops me.
“Uh-uh,” she tuts, and I sit back on my knees, suitably scolded.
Rose slowly moves her hands down her body, and I follow them like a dog with their favorite toy. A whimper spills from my lips as she slips her hand inside her underwear. I can’t see anything but the outline of her fingers through the white fabric, but I hear the moment she brushes her clit. She lets out a soft sigh, her head falling back afraction. I watch her fingers move beneath the fabric in slow, torturous circles, exactly where I want to be.
“Rose, please.” My voice is nothing more than a desperate whisper. “I want to taste you. Ineedto taste you.”
She runs her tongue along her lower lip and pulls her hand out of her underwear, holding her fingers out to me. They’re fucking glistening. “Then taste me, wife.”
I lean forward and take her fingers between my lips, groaning as I finally taste her. My eyes flutter closed, my tongue lavishing her fingers, savoring the sweet, salty,Rose-ytaste of her. I could get hooked on this if I’m not careful. Not on her. Never on her. But this? The feel of her pressing her fingers deep in my mouth, towering above me, commanding me with nothing more than the two digits… this I like.
She pulls her fingers out of my mouth, wet with my saliva. In another world, I might be grossed out by the sight of my spit practically dripping from her hand. But in this world, Rose uses her other hand to tug her underwear to the side and I finally get my eyes on her perfect pussy. I watch, transfixed, as she parts her lips and circles her entrance with her fingers—fingers coated inme. And when she presses them inside herself, and her body falls back against the picnic table, I can’t stop myself from leaning closer.
I don’t touch, as tempted as I am, just stare with my mouth open like I’ve never seen something as hot as the sight of her fucking herself with her fingers. And maybe I haven’t. Maybe I’ll never see something this hot again.
“You can touch,” she says, her voice curling around me like scalding smoke.
“Where? How? Tell me how you want me. Tell me what to do.” She wants control, and I’ll hand over the reins any day of the week if it means I get to touch her.Reel it in, I remind myself.You’re into sex, not Rose.
Rose leans down and places a finger under my chin, tilting my head up to look at her. “So eager to please me,” she murmurs, her eyes twinkling. “I could get used to this.” She brushes her thumb across my lip, then presses it into my mouth. My lips close around it automatically, obliging a command she didn’t even have to give.
“Put your mouth on me,” she says, leaning back and spreading her legs again. “Make your wife come before anyone comes by and catches us.”
I whimper at the reminder that we’re out here where anyone could see. This isn’t like me. I’m strictly abehind-closed-doorskind of girl. But I’m not usually the kind of girl who wears a collar, or fucks the roommate she hates, or gets drunkenly married in Vegas. Who said you can’t evolve in your thirties?
My heart is trying to burst out of my rib cage as I shift closer to Rose and run my hands up her legs. I look up, her hair falling back, glimmering golden, the sun-streaked foliage casting soft shadows across her skin. For someone who hates the outdoors, she sure does look heavenly out here. She tastes heavenly too, and I’m so fucking ready for more.
I take a deep breath and dip my head between her legs. Rose sinks her fingers into my hair, and I peer up at her. She’s watching me, her chest rising and falling.
“I want you to make me. Please, honey.” The nicknameslips out, less sarcastic than it usually is. And I just know she’s going to give me shit for it later, but for now…
Rose’s eyes flare, and her grip on my hair tightens. She clasps my face with her other hand, her touch gentle, almost ticklish for a split second, until she releases me and presses my face against her.
I run my tongue over her and groan.Gorgeous. Maybe she has the right to act like a stuck up asshole ninety-nine percent of the time, considering she tastes so fucking good. I swirl my tongue over her before closing my lips around her clit, and Rose moans, wrapping her legs around me and pulling me closer to her. Every breath is a struggle, but I don’t care, because Rose is shaking and whimpering and grinding against my face, and it’s bliss.
“Fuck, fuck,fuck,” she cries, her free hand slamming down on the wood. “You’re doing so good, so fucking good, I—oh.” I graze her clit lightly with my teeth, and she melts.
In my experience, most people tense when they come. They clench their fists, tighten their legs, every muscle tensing so much it might snap. But not Rose. Perhaps it’s because she’s so damn tense the rest of the time, but she softens. Her hand falls away from my hair, her legs part, slipping down my back, and her body loosens. It’s like she’s boneless, floating on a wave and riding it out.
