When he got in the truck, she could hear that he was breathing hard, and she was gratified by the fact that she had affected him in the way he had affected her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, because just as she realized that, she realized what lying to him had done.
“About what?”
“Saying that I didn’t want you. Making you feel you were alone in this.”
He chuckled as he pulled the truck away from the curb. “Jessie Jane, I always knew I wasn’t alone in it. You’re not that good a liar.”
“It bothered you, though.”
“Sure. Nobody likes to be lied to, even if the lie isn’t a bad one.”
She was glad he didn’t ask why they hadn’t done this before. She wasn’t going to ask him either. He was no virgin, so he certainly didn’t have the same excuse she did. But they had avoided this. Mutually.
For a very long time.
She didn’t know how to act. How to make conversation as they drove out of town.
She remembered that she had told him she didn’t bring men back to her place, but then also, she hadn’t protested when he had suggested they go back to the trailer.
She wondered what he thought of that.
Whether he noticed the discrepancy, or whether he was just ason edge as she was, and therefore not thinking about it one way or the other. Did people normally make conversation when they were on their way to have sex? What were you supposed to say? Should she be saying erotic things? Talking about it as if they were in one of the romance novels Millie liked to read? Should she say that she wanted to lick him or something?
The very idea made her wish she were dead.
Not the idea of licking him. She liked that idea. She just didn’t want to …
When they got to the action part, she was going to be able to do it. But she couldn’t do any kind of verbal foreplay beforehand. That was above her pay grade.
Luckily the rain provided a soundtrack for the drive, the drops hitting the windshield, the water on the road splashing against the tires. She looked outside, the view blurry from the rivulets of water running down the passenger side window. Making the trees an impressionist blur.
Finally, they pulled up to her house. Finally.
And as soon as they parked, just behind a little copse of trees that would keep the truck from being visible to anyone in her family, he pulled her onto his lap, or rather he tried. She flailed around until she managed to free herself from her seat belt and then went willingly into his arms. He enveloped her. His frame was so large, his kiss so deep, so intense. He moved his hands through her hair, and suddenly she forgot about everything but how much she wanted this. Because nothing else mattered. Nothing but him. Nothing but this.
Flynn.
The whiskers on his face were rough, his mouth hot. His hands were sure and certain as they moved down her back, as he urged her against him. She wanted to strip him naked then and there. Wanted to free him and hike her dress up and just have it be done. She needed relief. From this desperate desire for him. From her nervous anticipation.
He kissed her lips, her neck. His mouth. Oh God, his mouth. It was so good. So perfect. Just like him. How had she gone so longwithout it? How had she resisted this? She hadn’t known what she was missing, that was how. His hands …
They moved over her curves. It wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted his hands on her skin. And logistically, doing it in the truck probably wasn’t a great idea.
“Inside,” she moaned. She wasn’t entirely sure she meant that she wanted him inside her, or that they needed to get inside her house. She had a feeling that one would lead to the other.
He opened the driver’s side door and lifted her out. His arm was still around her waist as he urged her forward into the house. She didn’t have time to be embarrassed about his seeing her personal space. This soft inner sanctum that seemed perfect when she was the only one who ever saw it exposed too much now that he was here.
Her pink bedspread, the stuffed animals that rested against her pillow. But for now, he was kissing her. Then he lifted her up and set her down on the edge of her kitchen counter, moving between her thighs, the hard thrust of his arousal settling there, letting her feel how much he wanted this too.
She could feel how wet she was, how much she wanted it. Needed it. She pushed her hands beneath the hem of his shirt, her fingertips grazing his stomach muscles and the crisp hair there. She was desperate to see him. She urged his shirt up over his head, and he accommodated. Her jaw just about hit the floor when she saw what a perfect specimen he was.
She moved her hand up his chest, back down over his ridged abdomen. She was obsessed. Obsessed.
He was just … everything.
And what about her? What would he think? She had never been insecure about her looks before; she wore a very specific armor that worked for her. Men liked the way she looked, but they never got too close. That suited her. Now she was on the verge of living out every fantasy she’d ever had with Flynn Wilder—what would he think?
