Page 79 of The Love of My Next Life
It doesn’t matter how many times I get this close to Macon. His presence shocks and excites me like it’s the very first time. Every thought in my head is silenced until I’m hyperaware of the sound of his breathing and the rapid beating of my heart. He reaches out and pulls my braid over my shoulder, slipping the ribbon off the end and shoving it into his pocket. Number three.
I don’t breathe. I don’t move, except for the tiniest tilt of my body toward him. It’s not intentional. It’s like I’m pulled, but I don’t resist. I welcome it, just like I welcome his fingers wrapping around the back of my neck and the tug of my lips onto his. I welcome the bite of his teeth on my lower lip, the caress of his tongue over mine, the press of his body into me.
I was hoping he’d come here.
I think I knew he would.
I bring my hands to his head and slip my fingers into his hair, his soft curls exactly what I’ve been craving all day. I ignore the guilt and the warning bells, and I pull him as close to me as possible, until there’s no space between our bodies. No room for air or doubt or reality.
Just us.
Just him and me.
He backs me up slowly and pushes me against the counter. My back is to the football field and the bleachers full of fans, but all I care about is Macon. His hands and his mouth. He pulls away, nipping at my jaw, sucking on my neck, then dropping to his knees in front of me.
“What,” I pant out, “what are you doing?” I look behind me, then back down at him. He smirks.
“Finishing what I started.” He slides his hands slowly up my thighs and under my skirt. I clamp my legs together, halting his hands with my own. My eyes are wide, my mouth dropped in surprise.
“You can’t,” I say, and his amused smirk grows. “People will see.”
He knocks on the underside of the counter.
“No one’s gonna see me,” he says. “You just gotta act normal.”
He slides his hands between my legs and pushes them apart, and damnit, they open for him. Without any resistance.
He brings his index finger to his lips.
“Shhh,” he whispers. “Be agood girl, Lennon Capri.”
I don’t miss his mocking tone, but I’m too dazed to call him out on it. He slips my skirt up my thighs, pressing a kiss to one, then the other, before inching the fabric up over the curve of my ass.
I glance behind me again, making sure that no one can see, but there isn’t a soul close to the building, and the counter reaches to just above my waist. Hot breath heats my center, and I look back down to see Macon with his mouth covering my panties and his eyes on my face.
I gasp. The feeling of his tongue massaging me through the cotton barrier is somehow more erotic now than it was this morning, and this time, he doesn’t tease. He uses his finger to pull my underwear to the side and swipes his tongue over me. I moan, then clap my hand over my mouth. He licks me again before closing his lips around my clit and sucking, never breaking eye contact.
“Oh my god,” I whisper.
His usually piercing blue eyes are so dark, sapphire instead of topaz, but just as depthless and breathtaking. My thighs quiver. I can’t handle the sight of him in front of me, on his knees for me, with his mouth on my body. His palms cover my backside, and he pulls me firmer against his face, flicking his tongue over my sensitive, swollen skin.
“Macon,” I gasp, and his groan vibrates between my legs. One of his hands leaves my body as he reaches down and grips the bulge in his jeans. It makes me hotter, thinking of him touching himself. His hand on his erection, stroking himself as he licks me.
I tug on his hair. I want to writhe on him, and the thought makes my breaths grow shorter. I pulse my hips, just a little, to test it out, and the feeling makes my vision spark white.
“Fuck,” Macon says with glistening lips, pulling back just enough to speak. “Move on me just like that,” he rasps as he slips a finger in me. I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from crying out.
I open my mouth to speak, to say I don’t even know what, but laughter behind me breaks through the haze in my brain. It’s closer than it should be, and I glance over my shoulder to see two students heading our way.
I grab Macon’s hair and pull, dragging him away from my body.
“You have to stop,” I say frantically. “Someone’s coming.”
He smirks, his full lips shiny and wet with my arousal.
“Yeah,” he rumbles, “You.”
He grabs my hips and turns me, so I’m facing the approaching girls. I recognize them. Alana and Sarah. They’re juniors, and I’ve had a few classes with them in the past. Alana is nice enough, but Sarah is a gossip and loves drama.
