Page 138 of Seven Lost Summers
I move before I can second-guess myself, before the weight of everything we’ve been through has a chance to sink its claws in and pull me back. My hand buries in her hair, fingers twisting through those soft strands I’ve thought about too many fucking times, and I kiss her.
The kiss isn’t gentle. No room exists for that. Our mouths crash, tongues sliding, the kind that scrapes something raw out of your chest and dares you to survive the force of it. Years of tension, years of want, years of everything we’ve never said spilling into this one brutal moment.
She groans against my mouth and the sound nearly ends me. Her hands grip my shirt, fingers fisting tight as if she’s holding on for dear life. Our bodies twist together, mouths locked, breath ragged, hands tearing at fabric and skin.
She pulls me closer, grinding up against my jeans, and I register the way her body arches, begging for more.
This isn’t slow or sweet.
This is fucking urgent.
Her top rides up as I shove my hand beneath it, palm dragging across the soft skin of her stomach, fingers searching for every place that makes her gasp. She’s burning. Her whole body hums beneath mine, wound tight, ready to snap.
Her legs wrap around my waist, hips grinding against the thick outline of my cock. Every movement of her pussy against the rough denim is enough to make me grit my teeth. I’ve been hard since the second I walked in and saw her on that bed in those fucking tights, legs stretched out, body soft and waiting. The way they clung to her thighs, her ass, her cunt—fuck, she had to know what that did to me.
My cock throbs beneath the restraint of my jeans, tight and unforgiving, and when she moves again, pressing herself against the hard ridge, she lets out this soft, helpless moan that cuts through me. That sound. That fucking sound. The noise strikes somewhere deep and primal. It’s the kind of sound I chase. The kind I’ve dragged from other girls before but never like this. Never with her.
I slow everything down.
Grip her hips. Hold her still.
Her eyes snap open, breath catching as I stare down at her.
“Don’t move unless I tell you to,” I murmur, my voice low, steady, full of warning.
She freezes and obeys like a good fucking girl.
I press my forehead to hers, breath ghosting over her lips, not giving her another kiss yet. Only holding her in place. Letting the tension stretch, coil, burn.
“You still sure?”
She nods fast, eyes wild.
“Words,” I growl, tightening my hold on her waist.
“Yes.” It’s barely a whisper. “Fucking hell, yes.”
I smirk. That mouth—so quick, so fucking sharp—and now she can’t even form a sentence.
“Then you do exactly what I say.” I drop my head to her neck, lips brushing her skin, letting her feel the heat of my breath as I speak. “You’ve heard the shit they say, haven’t you?” My voice is all gravel now. “Those rumors back in the day.”
She tenses, ever so slightly, but doesn’t answer.
“The ones about how I fuck. How I don’t rush. How I don’t stop until the girl comes completely undone.”
“You’re such a cocky bastard,” she mutters, trying to cover the way her thighs squeeze around me.
I grin against her throat, teeth scraping over her pulse.
“No,” I breathe. “I’m a patient bastard. And you’re about to learn the fucking difference.”
I drag my mouth up the column of her throat, tongue tracing the heat of her skin. When I reach the spot right beneath her jaw, I suck hard, letting my teeth scrape over that delicate flesh until the full-body shiver rolls through her. Her nails bite through the cotton of my shirt as she arches, desperate for more contact. Her hips twitch beneath me, trying to grind against the thick, hard press of my cock still trapped in my jeans.
“Did I say you could move?” My voice scrapes low in my throat, filled with warning.
She freezes. Every muscle goes tight beneath me. Her breath catches, chest lifting fast. Her heart pounds beneath me. The rhythm is wild and frantic. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t move again.
That’s better.
