Page 75 of Light Up The Night
He sees.
"Hey, hey, hey, what's this?" he whispers, rising up the length of my body, leaning on an elbow to smear the tears away. "Cadence, if I—"
I cover his mouth. "No," I whisper over him. "I am not upset. I'm…"
“Overwhelmed?" he guesses.
“Yes."
"Need to stop? Or just take a minute?"
I nod.
He slides one thick, burly arm under my neck, and now he's curled over me on his side, sheltering me from the ever-watchful gaze of the stars, and his eyes are on mine and nowhere else. "I got you, honey. Long as you need. We can get dressed and go, if you want."
"No!" I exclaim, more forcefully than I had intended; it is almost a shout. "No. No. Please, I do not want to stop, or to leave. I am just…I feel so many things, and…"
"This help at all?" he breathes, and his mouth slants against mine, and I whimper at the heat of his mouth.
"Yes," I gasp between kisses. "Yes, it does."
It more than helps, in fact.
It emboldens me.
I explore the broad hard field of his back and shoulders, my sensitive fingertips identifying each muscle—levator scapulae, trapezius, latissimus dorsi, rhomboids major and minor…
Lower.
Lower.
I run into the barrier of his jeans.
I turn my fingertips to face his toes as I explore his abdomen, lower and lower, until I find the beginning of his iliac furrow. When I fit my middle finger into the groove of the furrow and slide my touch toward his waistband, his stomach curls inward.
An invitation?
I believe so.
He, meanwhile, kisses me as if we face execution on the morrow—with utter desperation, with complete hunger. His tongue demands mine—and I give him what he demands, most eagerly. The kiss erases my overwhelm, and I lose myself in his mouth, his tongue, his hunger. I lose myself in my own desire. I feel my need pooling at the juncture of my thighs, making my sex slippery and so, so wet, so hot. The pressure within is titanic and impossible and maddening.
And with it, now that I am touching his marvelous, masculine body, my own desire for him is a new thing, a hunger to know more of him, a need to feel his muscle, his heat, his hardness, his flesh, his arousal.
I find the cold roundness of the button of his jeans. Flip it through the loop.
Riley growls into the kiss. "It's like that, is it?"
"If you will allow it, yes," I whisper.
"You don't need to ask, honey." He cups my cheek as he kisses me, and then pulls away and we look at each other for a moment. "Listen to me, okay? I'm here foryou. Whatever you want, whatever you need." Another kiss, hot, all tongue, quick. "My body is yours, Cadence. Explore. Do whatever you want."Heart pounding in my ears, I find the tab of his zipper and tug it down. I am panting with anxiousness and nerves and need and anticipation. Riley's hand smooths over my belly and soars down one bare hip. His mouth covers mine and I whimper and lift up and open my mouth to his, and I offer him my tongue, and he takes it with a growl in his chest. With his jeans loose and open, I let my touch roam his back once more, from shoulders to the elastic of his underwear.
I bury my face in the side of his throat, too embarrassed to look at him as I hesitate…slip my hand beneath the elastic of his underwear…and cup the hot, taut bubble of his buttock. Which is, unsurprisingly, hard as rock, yet the skin is so soft and so hot. I squeeze, whimpering in shocked delight at how much I enjoy the feel of him in my hand. I palm his other buttock, and then worm my other hand around his waist and fill both hands with his buttocks.
He simply lets me touch him. His palm rests on my hip, in the intimate, tender juncture where hip, thigh, and sex meet.
The constriction of his jeans and underwear is abruptly infuriating, and I growl my annoyance—shove them both down out of the way so I may play with the wonderfulness that is his backside unrestricted.
He laughs at my impatience, his body shaking. "Hey, easy. No rush."
