Page 80 of Hopeless
She sucks in a breath, arching in toward me. “What are you doing?” Her fingers fist the collared shirt I put on just for her tonight.
“Kissing my fiancée.” I drag my close-cut stubble over her chest, dotting her collarbones with kisses as I go.
“Why?”
“Because I want to.”
Her fingers extend over my shoulders, sliding up my neck as a shiver racks her body. “But no one’s watching.”
I flick the flimsy strap of her dress and watch it fall away, dangling limp over her bicep. “Why does anyone need to be watching?” I kiss the spot where her strap was and glance up at her. With the low sun behind her, her silky hair blazes like a dark fire.
Her tongue darts out over her full bottom lip as her mouth parts on a shaky breath. “Because this is meant to be for show. Right?”
I watch her watching me. Her question hangs between us like a line I know I shouldn’t cross. A linesheknows I shouldn’t cross. A line that is becoming consistently less stark the more time I spend getting to know Bailey.
The more time I spend with my hands on her.
“Well, Bailey.” Her face dips closer, as though she’s struggling to hear me over the noise of the fair. “We can give them all a show when we’re at the bottom and just enjoy ourselves when we’re at the top. We can walk off this ride looking a little tousled. How does that sound?”
She flushes, cheeks bright pink, just like her parted lips. Her body hums in my hands, and the surrounding air is downright electric.
“Sounds good,” she whispers.
“You tell me if there’s something you don’t like, okay?” I slide my palm over her elbow, wanting nothing more than to give her pleasure after the earlier altercation made her crumble. She went from vibrant and happy to locked down and wounded.
I never want to see that look on her face again. I want to patch her back up and send her out into the world with confidence, knowing she deserves respect and is strong enough to demand it.
“Okay,” her voice cracks, and her thumb swipes over the bone behind my ear as she settles her weight on my crotch.
I give her a stern nod, willing my cock to not go full mast. But that’s a losing battle.
When I drop my lips to the soft tops of her breasts, the twanging sound of that one flimsy thread of my control snapping echoes in my ears.
Impulsive.
The word repeats in my head as my hands roam her body. And I don’t give a fuck.
Being impulsive has never felt this good.
My tongue darts out, leaving a trail of glistening saliva over her cleavage. Her head tips back and she moans, all breathy and scandalized sounding.
That fucking moan.
All hope of not walking off this ride with a raging hard-on evaporates in an instant.Poof. Gone.
I move back up her chest, her thighs snug against mine as she squeezes herself closer. Tighter against me.
Her fingers dive into my hair as I work my way back up her sternum. I take my time and savor every inch of her. Every little huff of breath, every whimper.
But the closer we draw to the ground, to the line of people who will no doubt see us, the more she tenses up. She’s not a showy person. She’s perfected flying under the radar, and straddling me in public is definitely not that.
“Bailey.”
“Yeah?”
My lips brush over the expanse of skin where her neck meets her shoulder. I haven’t kissed her lips yet.
I’m still not sure I should. Not sure I’ll recover.
