Page 8 of Tee the Season
“Don’t let me stop you,” I breathe, my belly clenching at his words. With a sly smile, he leans forward and dips his head, his tongue finding my center. I gasp as he licks and explores, his movements slow and deliberate against my clit, stoking flames that threaten to consume me. I grip his shoulders, my legs quaking as I widen my stance, my hips rocking in sync with his rhythm while he draws out a pleasure so intense it’s almost unbearable.
The sensation commands every bit of my attention, and everything outside of it fades into the background. All that exists is Rory and the way his tongue explores my slick folds. He slides a finger inside me, then another, his tongue never ceasing its delicious torment. A coil of heat and tension winds tighter and tighter in my core until it snaps, sending waves of pleasure crashing through me.
As I come down from the high, my chest heaving, I glance down to find Rory watching me through thick lashes, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.
He presses a kiss to my hipbone then draws back, his voice a low rumble. “I could spend all night with my head between your legs.”
I can’t help but let out a soft giggle, my body still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure. “I wouldn’t stop you.”
He chuckles. “Maybe another time. Right now, I need to be inside you. To feel you come around me again.”
The way he just tossed outanother time, so casually, as if we hadn’t agreed in the car, not twenty minutes ago, on just one night—no matter what—makes me want things I know better than to hope for. After all, we'll see each other, at least occasionally, now that our best friends are married. And whatwill we do? Sleep together every time we’re in each other’s company?
I ignore the comment and tease, “Then what are you waiting for?”
Chapter four
Rory
Ifollow Tabitha down the hallway, tearing my gaze from her sexy curves to take in her bedroom once we step inside. It isn’t large, but it’s packed with life in a way that makes my chest tight.
Books are stacked on every surface. The nightstand has two paperbacks with dog-eared pages. The quilt she draws back looks handmade, all mismatched squares in shades of blue and cream.
Everything here screams permanence. Roots. A life built in one place over years.
My hotel room from the wedding had white sheets that smelled like industrial detergent and art that came in bulk orders. Interchangeable. Forgettable.
Maybe, that’s why this feels different.
Neutral territory would’ve been smarter. Maybe, I should’ve insisted we head to my hotel. Although farther than here, it would've felt like a repeat. And even if Tabitha would have slipped out again before morning, at least, we wouldn’t have gotten too comfortable.
She climbs onto the bed, and the sight of her against worn blue flannel sheets, with snowflakes on them, does something to me I’m not ready to examine.
I strip off my shoes then my shirt, watching her eyes track the movement. My jeans follow, and I’m hyperaware of her gaze on me in a way I wasn’t at the hotel. There, we were both drunk on champagne and chemistry. Even after a couple of beers, I feel stone-cold sober now, and the weight of what we’re doing feels heavier somehow.
I pull a condom from my jeans pocket before tossing the pants aside.
A teasing smile transforms her face. “Planning to get lucky tonight, or are you always prepared?”
“Let’s just say I was hopeful.” I roll it down my length. Her eyes darken as she watches. “But you’re far from a sure thing.”
“Is that right?” She shifts on the bed, spreading her legs, and my brain short-circuits.
I climb onto her, settling between her thighs as my elbows rest on either side of her body. The mattress dips under my weight. It’s definitely more giving than the firm hotel beds I’m used to. “You made me work for this.”
“I did not.” Her voice is all innocence, but her eyes are pure challenge. “All it took was a dropped hint about you needing a ride.”
The heat of her core against my length makes coherent thought difficult. “Sure, but all throughout dinner, and then the drive over—” I lean down, capturing her mouth in a kiss that’s meant to be teasing but turns hungry the second our lips meet. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Driving me wild.”
Her hands slide up my back, nails dragging lightly against my skin. “I didn’t mean to distract you from your putting game.”
I pause at her entrance, my tip lined up as I grit my teeth to hold back. “You’ve been a distraction since I saw you walk down the aisle.”
“Oh.” The hitch in her breath tells me she wasn’t expecting that.
“You sure about this?” I ask quickly, regretting the confession I hadn’t planned to share. But also because this—sleeping together again—couldn’t be more different from our hotel hookup.
And we both know it.
