Page 251 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
I lean in, kissing him back, and taste the faint salt on his skin, the clean warmth of him, like sun and sweat and breath all wrapped up in one dizzying pull.
The kiss isn’t rushed. Not frantic. Just deep and slow, like we both can’t get enough.
His fingers twitch at my hips. I feel it—his flicker of restraint. My palms slide down the fabric over his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles under the silly T-shirt.
His tongue brushes the seam of my lips with such restraint it almost undoes me—a whisper of touch, patient but wanting.
When the kiss deepens, he presses harder, fuller, coaxing a low sound from my throat I didn’t know I could make. The tasteof him is intoxicating. And I feel the rise of his breath, the way his chest expands as he draws me closer.
His hands move.
Slowly at first. Tracing upward over the curve of my waist, sliding along the small of my back.
I shiver.
I can’t help it.
His lips move against mine with quiet urgency, like he needs this more than air—needs me.
His hand leaves my body entirely, and for a breathless moment, I miss it, until it finds my face. Then his palm cradles my cheek, fingers curling just behind my ear—his thumb brushes along my jaw, then over the edge of my mouth.
His other arm stays wrapped around me, keeping me pressed to him, like letting me go isn’t even an option anymore.
His tongue delves deeper, his fingers dragging through my scalp until he’s cupping the back of my head. Our tongues tangle, primal and instinctual.
His hips move in a silent plea for more, and my body aches with want; every nerve ending is alive, and every breath is a reminder of just how much I crave him.
His lips trail down my jawline, his breath hot against my skin, and his teeth graze my earlobe in a way that makes me gasp.
“Tell me what you want.” His husky command sends a jolt of heat through me.
I tilt my head back, my eyes fluttering closed as his lips brush my neck.
“I want you,” I whisper. “But I want to take my time. I want to taste you. Feel you. Worship you.”
His hands slide down, cupping my ass, lifting me slightly as he presses me closer. “Then take me,” he growls, his voice thick with need. “Take everything.”
I shift, my knees bracketing his hips as I settle more fully on him. His hardness presses against my core, and I rock my hips subtly.
The tease makes him groan.
His hands grip my thighs, his fingers digging into my skin as he urges me closer.
“Take off your shirt.” I bite his earlobe, then lean back.
As he pulls his shirt off his broad shoulders in one quick motion and tosses it to the ground, I reach for the honey jar. I think I’m so smart until my eyes drift down his bare chest.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe. He’s all lean muscle and bronzed skin. His bruises are darkening already, and there’s something so real about him. He’s not polished or posed, just raw strength under skin dusted with coarse hair and subtle shadows.
My fingers ache to touch him.
He reaches for me, as if I’m so far away, even straddling him. But he halts when he spots the honey I hold between us.
The way he eyes it, dark, almost angry, is a turn on.
I twist off the lid.
“Jade—” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
