Page 40 of Seeds of Love
He pulls off his hoodie, revealing strong, tanned arms under a tight white T-shirt. I shift, feeling like I’m starring in my own personal National Geographic special, “The Mating Rituals of the College Student.”
“Take off your hoodie,” he instructs, and something in his low voice makes my skin tingle.
Of course, because I’m me, I manage to get tangled in it. The fabric catches on my earrings, and I make a frustrated sound.
Freddie laughs—not mockingly, but low and warm, sending heat straight through me. “Here,” he murmurs, his fingers gentleas he untangles me. When he finally pulls the hoodie free, his eyes are dark with want.
I expect him to kiss me right away, but he just looks at me for a moment, like he’s memorizing something. Then his lips brush against my neck, barely touching, testing. The gentleness of it makes me shiver.
A small sound escapes me—embarrassingly needy—but Freddie’s response is immediate. He kisses me again, open-mouthed this time, trailing down to my collarbone.
“Do you like this?” he whispers against my skin.
“Yes,” I breathe, afraid to move, afraid to break whatever spell this is. I’ve fooled around before, but this is different. Every touch feels electric, important.
His hands find my waist, thumbs tracing circles on my hip bones as he explores my neck with his mouth. I make these little gasping noises that should mortify me, but the way Freddie growls in response makes me forget to be self-conscious.
When he pulls me onto his lap, we’re face to face, and oh.Oh.I can feel how much he wants this—wants me—and suddenly this feels very real. I’m about to have sex with Freddie Donovan.
I shift on his lap, and he makes a sound that shoots straight through me.
I lean in and catch his mouth, something primal taking over. This kiss is different—deeper, hungrier, like we’re both trying to consume each other. His hands tangle in my hair as he pulls me closer, and I forget everything else exists.
Freddie kisses like he’s trying to ruin me for anyone else. His tongue slides against mine, teasing, tasting, and his fingers dig into my hips like he’s afraid I might disappear. I rock against him instinctively, chasing more friction, more contact, more everything.
When his hand slides under my tank top, my breath catches. His palm is warm against my skin as he cups my breast, thumb circling experimentally. The sensation shoots through me.
“Good?” he asks, voice rough.
I try to nod, but he shakes his head. “Tell me, Lexie. I need to hear you.”
“Yes,” I breathe. “God, yes. Don’t stop.”
He makes a sound—half growl, half groan—that makes heat pool low in my stomach. His mouth finds mine again as his hand continues its exploration, and I can feel how much he’s holding back, how careful he’s being with me.
Freddie pulls back slightly, eyes dark with want. His fingers find the hem of my top, hesitating. “Can I?”
I nod, lifting my arms. He peels the fabric up slowly, like he’s unwrapping something precious. When he reaches my bra, his breath catches.
“Fuck, Lexie,” he murmurs, tracing the lace with his fingertip. His touch is so light it makes me shiver.
I arch up so he can reach the clasp, and his hands are surprisingly gentle as he undoes it. When the bra falls away, his expression makes my heart race—like he’s seeing something incredible.
Before I can feel self-conscious, he’s pressing me back into the mattress, his weight deliciously heavy over me. The feel of skin on skin sends electricity through my body.
“My god, Lexie…” he breathes, looking at me like I’m something extraordinary. His hands trace patterns on my ribs, my stomach, learning every curve.
I run my palms over his chest, exploring the muscles I’ve tried so hard not to notice during our study sessions. “Is this okay?” I ask softly.
The smile he gives me is tender yet laced with hunger. “More than okay.” His voice comes out rough, each word charged. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
I barely have time to absorb his words before his mouth claims mine again, hot and demanding, pulling me into his orbit. His hands slide lower, squeezing my thighs as he urges them apart, the warmth of his touch searing even through my leggings. A shiver races through me, and I gasp, helplessly arching toward him.
When his fingers find that sensitive spot, a surge of pleasure bolts up my spine. “Oh,” I breathe, tipping my head back, unable to hold back the response that he draws from me.
He grins against my neck, his warm breath brushing my skin before he trails a line of kisses down to my chest. When his mouth finally meets my breast, a whimper slips out, unbidden. His tongue moves in deliberate, slow strokes, teasing me, and every nerve in my body thrums, heat pooling in my center as I melt against him.
Boldness I didn’t know I had pushes my hands to explore his body, tracing the curves and lines with a newfound curiosity. When I reach for him, he catches my wrist gently, holding it with a tenderness that contrasts with the strain in his voice.
