She breathes harder and rises with me as I slide my hand down and make contact with her clit, stroking in time with my movements. I can hardly hang on. The grip of her around me, the warmth of her, the wetness of her is crushing my willpower.
Summer lying under me, eyes closed, searching for her release, naked apart from a half-on bra, is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. And it’s my mission to make her come again. I must hold on.
Just as I’m on the verge of losing control, she groans and gasps. “Oh, God. Don’t ever stop.”
The sight of her climbing and climbing is a vision to behold. And when she comes undone against my finger and my dick, it’s more than I can bear. I fly over the edge with her, our groans and cries blending into one.
It lasts. And it lasts. Holy fuck, it lasts.
When the waves finally subside, I sink on top of her, our damp chests thumping against each other, our aromas merging. She is part me, and I am part her.
How the hell am I supposed to get this woman out of my head when I leave?
As we finally catch our breath, her belly lets out a loud rumble.
“You still hungry?” I chuckle into her hair. I will never again be able to see a coconut without thinking of the scent of this mass of blonde curls.
She taps my backside with her heels and whispers into my ear. “If you move, I’ll go grab the rest of the snacks.”
16
SUMMER
“What the hell is that noise?” Owen mutters in a deliciously sexy, gravelly, barely-awake voice as he stretches and yawns beside me.
The sound of metal grating on asphalt outside is nowhere near as pleasant.
“Probably the plow,” I mumble, and curl into his warmth.
The comfort of his skin against mine is immediately replaced by the gut-churning realization this is the last time I’ll get to wallow in this heavenly sensation.
“The plow?” His voice is suddenly crystal clear and wide awake.
I fall back from him as he throws off the covers, runs to the window, and pulls back the curtains. The shape of his naked form, from his messy bedhead hair to his broad shoulders, firm butt, and worked-out calves, is a gorgeous sight I won’t see again.
My mouth goes dry. And not only because I’m dehydrated from finishing off the bottle of champagne last night.
Owen dashes back to his pile of clothes on the floor by the bed and pulls on his underwear and jeans. “Finally.”
The relief on his face knots my stomach tighter. He’s happy he can leave.
I force a smile. “Yeah. And in the nick of time.”
He leans across the bed and presses his sweet, delicious lips against mine. I melt into him. All I want to do is pull him down on top of me. But the kiss is all too brief.
“I’ll run downstairs and tell the folks I’ll be able to get there for the party,” he says. Then pushes off the bed and walks out the door.
A second after he’s vanished, his beaming face reappears. “And I’ll put the kettle on for you.” He grabs his T-shirt from the floor and disappears again.
I roll over and ball the quilt, made by my grandma, against the twinge in my chest.
So much for my plan of one night—well, accidentally two—with a hot, passing stranger, who then leaves as I wave him off, thankful for the amazing sex and happy to go back to my glorious life of independent solitude.
The walls I’ve thrown up around myself this last year and a half are supposed to be tall, strong, and impenetrable. But this man has found a secret shortcut around them. Or dug a tunnel under them. Or thrown a rope over, hauled himself up, and dropped to the other side. Or some other physical feat of wall-breaching that I hadn’t prepared for.
Him leaving wasn’t supposed to cause my stomach to feel like it did that night in college after my first tequila shots, when Izzie had to hold back my hair for three solid hours. My throat wasn’t supposed to sting like it’s closing up around a giant cactus. And my chest wasn’t supposed to ache like it’s been hit by a wrecking ball.
I reach down and stroke my adorable pooch’s side. “We’ve gotten over worse though, huh, Elsa? We’ll be fine.”
