Page 65 of Your Last First Kiss
Fuck, I want to feel her heat.
With my free hand, I thrust my fingers into her hair and grip it tight to hold her face where I want her.
“Come, Penny. Come right now. Let me see your eyes as you let go for me. Only for me.”
Her mouth falls open as her shoulders shake, and a tremor rolls down the length of her body. The faintest of flutters pull at my finger pressed to her entrance, making precome seep into my boxer briefs.
Penny climaxes in a torrent of spasms that feed my soul. I cover her mouth with my hand to muffle her cries of pleasure, and I watch every detail of her face as it contorts, but I never let up the pressure on her clit. I wring every ounce of this orgasm I can out of her.
And when her glassy eyes blink to refocus, I don’t give her time for regret. I take her mouth in a gentle kiss.
“That wasn’t taking it slow, but this was the best night of my entire goddamn life. Please don’t say you regret this, and for the love of God, let me do it again.”
My desperation for her bleeds into my tone, and I don’t give a fuck. I will drop to my knees to give this woman the world. “Next time, I’ll make sure we’re not interrupted because I plan to see and taste and explore every inch of you.”
“Dillon, I…” Penny’s voice is rough and ragged, like she’s still trying to catch her breath.
“Will you give me a chance to fit in your life? If that means stolen moments against a bathroom door or holding you in your closet so you don’t have to cry alone, that’s what I’ll do.”
“But…”
“No buts, Penny. Unless you tell me right now that you don’t want me. That you, not your life or your responsibilities, that you and you alone do not want me, I’m going to work for it. I’m going to work for you.”
Something like fear flashes in her eyes, and it has me lightening my tone a little and cupping her jaw. “What? Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Besides all my baggage, if you want to knowme, I don’t think I’ll be what you’re looking for. I’m not like Nova or Tilly. I’m forty-two. I’ve had three kids. The last time I dated…” She pauses and frowns. “Actually, I’ve never dated. I had a boyfriend at fourteen who turned into a fiancé at nineteen. We broke up for a few years, but I focused on college, and when we got back together, it was to get married.”
Her face is still flushed a beautiful shade of red, and I can’t help the ridiculous urge to sink my teeth into her milky flesh, to mark her as mine. But even though she’s never been more beautiful, I wasn’t wrong. There’s fear in her eyes that I don’t understand.
“What are you trying to say, sweetheart?”
“I—I have scars and stretch marks. Lots of them. My body sags, and it looks like Freddy Krueger took his knives to me in places. I don’t know how to date, and when you see me, really see me”—she sweeps her arms down her midsection—“I don’t look like the women you’re used to dating.”
She’s insecure about her body. That’s why she clutched my T-shirt to her stomach all those months ago.
That fucker really messed her up.
The sadness and disappointment in her eyes nearly rips me in two.
“Baby,” I murmur, “you’ve known me for years. How many dates do you think I’ve had in all that time?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“I know it’s not. But guess. For me.” I catch her gaze, and a contented smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.
“I have no idea.”
“One. One coffee date that lasted twenty-six minutes because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You’re not going to scare me off with your insecurities. I can handle scars, Penny. In fact, I look forward to finding them. Tracing them. Exploring them. And then making you love them too.”
She scoffs. “Never going to happen. Eddy wouldn’t even look at me. He said I was damaged goods. And that was before I had kids.”
I involuntarily squeeze her chin and force myself to relax before I hurt her.
“Rule number one, Penny. Unless it’s an emergency with your kids, never say his name to me right after I make you come. Rule number two, always remember that I’m not him. I don’t care if your entire body is a mass of snarled scars. I’m here for you. I like you. All of you. Not just for what you can offer with your body. I’m here for this,” I say while splaying my hand across her heart. “I’m here because of this.”
Tears fall down her cheeks, and she looks to the side.
She really tries hard not to cry in front of anyone. What strength does it take to smile through pain just to make everyone else around you comfortable?
