I heard rustling, and a branch cracked right before I felt him in front of me again, pressing his lips against mine.
“Right here.”
I grinned against his mouth. “Where are we, Phillipe?”
“We’re in a little spot away from the vineyards,” he explained, pulling my hand gently.
I felt him move to sit down, and I followed carefully. His hands helped guide me, and I was shocked when I felt a soft blanket hit my knees.
“You brought a blanket?” I moved to touch the material under me. It was fuzzy but not scratchy. My fingers sank into the plushness as I stroked the fabric. His hand came down on mine, and he gently entwined our fingers to stroke the blanket’s softness together.
“I came down here this morning and set it up.”
“Tell me what’s here,” I demanded of him eagerly.
He brought up my hand and kissed my knuckles. “Well, there’s a blanket. Above us, I hung a piece of cheesecloth from a couple of branches to shade the area a little better.”
As I felt him shift, I guessed he was looking around.
“I also brought several pillows.”
“You brought pillows?” I smiled. “Why?”
The scent of his cologne became stronger, and I knew he was only inches from me. His hands slid through my hair, cupping the back of my head.
“Because I want to lie down with you,” he explained as his lips met mine in a kiss that was as hot and potent as the sun shining down on us.
I have to stop for a minute because I have a feeling I know where this entry is going to go.
Am I ready to read this?
This is going to be their moment. I can tell from the title and the first line in the entry.Today, Phillipe took me outside. He took me outside and made me his.
Do I want to read this?The answer to that is almost embarrassingly easy to come by. However, the real question bothering me—the one that I don’t have an immediate answer for—is,Am I ready for how this will ultimately make me feel?
Looking up at the branches overhead, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, open the leather-bound book, and continue on.
Phillipe lowered me onto the blanket and moved one of the pillows to cushion my head. His breath, warm and sweet, whispered against my parted mouth as his tongue dipped inside to rub against my own.
I ran my hands through his hair and moaned against his lips as he angled in a different direction to deepen the kiss. One of his hands stroked my cheek as he lowered the top of my dress. I gasped as his big, warm palm continued down to cup my aching breast. Arching up into his caress, I felt him lift his head from mine.
His low voice rasped out a harsh prayer. “Christ.”
I almost echoed his sentiment.
His weight shifted as he moved to my right, running his palm over to the middle of my torso. I held my breath as his fingers flirted with my top button, and his hair flopped down to tickle my chin as he laid a hot, open-mouthed kiss at the base of my throat.
I tunneled my hands into his hair. His tongue came out to lick a path up the side of my neck until he was at my ear, where he bit the lobe gently.
“I want to sink inside of you, Chantel.”
“Yes,” I sighed.
“Yes?” He started to undo the buttons at the center of my chest.
“Yes,” I repeated.
“You want me inside you?”
