Page 124 of Lighting the Lamp
“Tell me to stop,” I murmur, my lips grazing the shell of her ear. “I dare you.”
But she doesn’t, and that’s all the permission I need. I press her harder into the siding, the faint texture biting into my palms where they bracket her hips. The wood is warm from the sun, but her body is warmer, heat seeping through the thin barrier of her clothes until I can’t tell where I end and she begins.
The murmur of conversation from the yard is faint but present. I can hear the clink of silverware and the occasional burst of laughter, a reminder that we are very much not alone. And maybe that’s what makes my pulse pound harder and my hands greedy. Her scent hits me first, that faint sweetness ofwhatever lotion she uses, tangled up with the clean bite of her shampoo, layered now with the citrus-sugar of lemonade still on her tongue.
I kiss her again, deep and slow this time, letting it build. Her lips part under mine, and I slide my tongue against hers, savoring the way she tastes, sweet and something that’s only hers. She makes a sound in my mouth, and it lands in my chest like a lit match.
My hand skims under her shirt, fingertips tracing the dip of her waist, then higher over the warm plane of her stomach. Her skin is soft, impossibly smooth, and my touch leaves a trail of goose bumps in its wake. She inhales sharply, the sound threading straight into my spine.
“Beau…” Her voice is a warning, but her body presses closer.
“Shhh,” I murmur against her neck, my lips finding the spot just under her jaw that makes her shiver. “They can’t see us here, and even if they could…” My teeth scrape lightly over her pulse, my voice dropping to a growl. “I still wouldn’t stop.”
Her fingers clutch at the back of my neck, nails grazing my skin. My other hand moves up, cupping her breast through the thin fabric of her bra. She arches into my palm like it’s the only thing keeping her upright, a soft gasp slipping out before she can bite it back.
“That’s it,” I breathe, my thumb stroking over the swell, teasing until I feel the faintest shift of her weight toward me, seeking more.
I break from her mouth just long enough to look at her flushed cheeks, heavy-lidded eyes, and kiss-bruised lips. The sight hits me harder than the adrenaline from last night’s game.
“Do you know what you look like right now?” I whisper, my thumb still brushing over her skin in slow, maddening passes. “Like mine. Completely mine.”
She swallows but doesn’t answer, her breath coming faster. The sound, quick and shallow, tangles with the faint hum of voices drifting from the yard. We shouldn’t be doing this here. That knowledge pulses at the edge of my mind and makes it that much hotter.
My hand slides lower again, fingers tracing the waistband of her shorts. The pad of my thumb dips just under, feeling the bare skin there and the faintest edge of lace. She lets out another sharp inhale, her grip on my shirt tightening like she’s bracing herself.
“I could make you come right here,” I murmur, my lips ghosting over hers without kissing. “Have you shaking against the wall while they’re sitting twenty feet away.”
Her eyes flutter closed, and that’s when I slip my hand deeper under the waistband, finding warm, silken heat. Her knees give a little, and my other arm wraps around her waist to keep her steady as my fingers start a slow, deliberate rhythm that has nothing to do with patience.
Her knees nearly buckle when my fingers find her, and I tighten my hold around her waist, pressing her deeper into the siding. I want her pinned. I want her to have nowhere to go but to me.
The hum of voices from the yard is still there, faint, but my world’s gone narrow. All heat and the slick glide of her under my touch. Alise is already trembling, her breath catching on every exhale. I know I should slow down, drag it out, and make her beg, but I can’t. Not when I’ve been starving for this. For her.
“You don’t know,” I rasp, my forehead pressing to hers, “how many nights I’ve thought about you like this. My hand between your thighs and you melting for me.” I kiss her hard, almost punishing, swallowing the soft, broken sound she makes. “And now you’re in my arms, in my fucking backyard?—”
Her head tips back against the wall when my thumb circles her clit, and the sight wrecks me. Lips parted, lashes fluttering, her throat working as she swallows a gasp. I push my free hand under her shirt, palm splayed over the heat of her bare skin, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her breathing.
“Mine,” I growl, the word breaking loose from somewhere low in my chest. “I don’t care if they hear you. I don’t care if they walk out here and see us. Let them know exactly who you belong to.”
Her fingers grip my shoulders, nails biting through the fabric. Her hips roll, chasing my touch, and my restraint shreds. I work her faster, deeper, coaxing every sound I can out of her while my mouth finds her neck again, tasting salt and heat and the faint sweetness of her lotion.
“Beau—” My name breaks on a breath, and it’s all I can do not to lose it right then.
“That’s it, baby,” I murmur against her skin, my voice wrecked and low. “Say my name when you come. I want everyone to hear who’s making you feel like this.”
She’s close. So close that I can feel it in the way she clings to me, the tremor in her thighs and the desperate little catches of her breath. I press harder, curling my fingers just right so my thumb works her over until she shatters.
Her cry is muffled against my shoulder, her whole body tensing before breaking apart in my arms. I hold her through it, fingers still working her gently until she’s sagging against me, trembling and completely undone. For a long moment, all I can do is breathe her in. The scent of her hair, the sweat-slick heat of her skin, and the wild drum of her heartbeat matches mine. My need is a live wire under my skin, almost painful, but I don’t care about that right now. The only thing that matters is her.
I ease my hand free, tugging her shorts back into place, and cradle her face in my palms. Her eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, and fuck, she’s beautiful like this.
“You have no idea,” I murmur, brushing my thumbs over her cheekbones, “how hard it is not to take you inside, head right to my room, and lock the door.”
“Pretty sure I do.” She gives a shaky laugh, still catching her breath.
I lean in, kissing her slowly this time, letting the heat settle into something deeper. “Next time, baby, there won’t be anyone around to stop me.”
The way she looks at me—all flushed, wrecked, and wanting—makes me think she’s already counting down the minutes until we can be alone again.
