My whole body says yes. And I’m only exaggerating a little. Technically, my toes are not really involved, or my teeth. But all sorts of bits and pieces of me that you might not expect are. Easton’s body has the key to mine, and when he’s this close—holding me, whispering teasing words in my ear—I’m on.
Even though I think I’m probably right, that this will end badly, that I will lose all kinds of things that matter to me, I want that yes in a way I have never wanted anything before.
I tilt my chin up so our mouths slide together like key and lock. And oh my God, it’s so good. Easton kisses like it’s his professional obligation and the only thing on his mind. He kisses with his lips and his tongue and the rough noise of pleasure in his chest and his hands all over my body like he can’t get enough.
“You—” he says, when we tug apart momentarily, both panting. “—are the hottest woman I have ever kissed.”
I roll my eyes.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me.”
“That’s gotta be panty-melter bullshit,” I tell him.
“It’s not,” he says fervently, gently planting a line of kisses along my jaw, sending tendrils of pleasure everywhere.
I consider fighting him more, but the kisses skate down my throat, into the deep scoop of my top.
“Please don’t ever stop wearing these scoop-necked tops,” he growls as his tongue teases the neckline, and I decide that if I’ll be rewarded like this, I can give him what he wants.
His fingertips follow his tongue, nudging the neckline even lower, his mouth on the top curve of my breast making me limp with need. “I love your body. I feel like your body is made for me.” His voice is so rough I can feel it on all my nerve endings.
My hands roam his body, too, over lean, hard muscle, broad shoulders, thick biceps, sinewy forearms. I need to touch him everywhere I possibly can in case this is the only time. I need to store him up. I’m greedy, and he’s beautiful, even more beautiful to touch than to look at. I can’t get enough.
“May I?” he says, tugging at the hem of my shirt.
It’s testament to how far gone I am that I don’t hesitate before pulling it over my head, even though we’re outside.
The look on Easton’s face when he sees me shirtless makes it completely worth it. He looks at me the way most people look at the Grand Canyon or the Sistine Chapel or whatever it is they’ve waited a lifetime to feast their eyes on.
No one has ever looked at me like that. Like he wants to devour me. Like he wants to possess me.
It makes my legs go watery. But not as watery as they get when he closes the gap between us, pushes the cup of my bra down to expose my nipple, and bends his head to tease it. Then my knees actually buckle.
He catches me, clutches me, his mouth never stopping its work. And somehow, he manages to support my weight against him and also work a hand down between my legs, cupping my mound, giving me the palm of his hand to rub against my now slightly damp leggings.
Which is, unfortunately, when sanity shows up for me.
“Easton.”
“Mmmph,” he says.
“Easton. You have to stop. I need to tell Bear I’m not interested. I mean, not that I promised him anything, or like we talked about exclusivity. But, you know, out of respect. Close that… loop.”
He surfaces, eyes glazed and mouth slick. “Oh, shit. Yeah. You do. And…” Apparently sanity has come to him, too. “He’s going to hate me. I told him we weren’t… that I didn’t…” His eyes rake over me—face, lingering on my mouth, throat, bare breast, disheveled bra. “Turns out I lied to him.” He grins wolfishly, which sets up a slow pulse in my core. “Because there is definitely something going on between us.”
I smile. “Well. I gotta tell him the truth. If… we’re going to keep kissing.”
He reaches out and smooths his thumb over my lower lip; my tongue comes out, involuntarily, to touch it, and he groans. “We’re definitely going to keep kissing. And I’m hoping a bunch of other stuff, too.”
“Sex?” I blurt.
He grins. “If you want that.”
“I do. I really, really do. You have absolutely no idea how bad my drought has been. I don’t think I want to tell you how long it’s been since I last had sex.” At least five years. I don’t want to count any more exactly than that.
He eyes me, his lips still glossy from ministering to my nipple. “I really, really, wish you hadn’t said that. Because now all I can think about is fixing that.” His gaze skates over me, snagging on my mouth, the vee of my leggings, and my nipples—hard and eager.
“So, sex, definitely,” I tease, and enjoy how his eyes darken more. It’s such a high to be on the receiving end of his attention.
He reaches for me, but I pull back. “Probably not the best idea?” I say wryly.
“Probably not,” he agrees. “What are you going to tell Bear?”
“I think… for now I’ll just tell him I’m not interested in taking things between him and me any further.”
“You can tell him the whole truth if you want to. Don’t worry about me.”
“Nah,” I say. “That feels… complicated.”
There’s a flare of something behind his eyes. “What’s complicated?”
“Trying to explain what this is. It just feels complicated to try to explain it to someone else.” I shiver suddenly, my skin cooling as the sun kisses the mountains in the distance. I reassemble myself, pulling my bra cup up, tugging my t-shirt over my head.
He watches me, his eyes unreadable. “Yeah. I get that. So maybe… we don’t try to define it for now. You just let me break your sex fast… and enjoy it.”
Then he slides a hand behind my head and draws me close, the kiss feeling more and more perfectly inevitable until his mouth closes tenderly on mine.