Davis. There. All along.
He’s been there for me. He’swantedme. This whole time.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” His voice is gravelly. “Oh.”
And that’s enough. With the alcohol and the emotions, and that knowledge piling on top of everything that happened, the eruption comes.
I burst into tears.
“Sorry,” I blubber. “Sorry.”
Davis pushesmy hair back off my face. “It’s okay.”
“Why aren’t you running? Do women always start crying when you’re about to fuck them?”
“Nah. Just you.”
“Lucky you.”
“I am lucky.” He kisses me gently, one cheek then the other, collecting my tears. “I know why you’re crying. And so do you, Cece.”
“Because someone spiked my champagne?”
“Because this is real. You know it, and it scares you. But that’s okay. It doesn’t scare me.”
Oh my God, he really is amazing.
I reach up and kiss him, slow and deep. Something in my chest shifts, and a sense of peace settles heavy in my limbs. A quiet certainty that presses me back onto the seat as firmly as Davis’s body.
This is it.
He’s seen me at my worst—and this year has undoubtedly been my worst. He’s seen me bone-tired, messy drunk, lusting after the two-point-five kids fantasy with another man. And he’s still here? He gets it. He getsme.All of me.
That knowledge buries itself in my chest, like a golden ball.
Davis kisses the underside of my jaw, and my whole body jolts, electricity shooting through me in a thick pulse. He works his way down my neck, dropping little kisses along my flesh, each one sending another tiny wave out until my whole body is thrumming with heavy awareness.
“You’re gorgeous.” He scrapes the words into my shoulder, and I arch my back, guiding him. He buries his face in my cleavage and inhales, his back rising under my fingertips. “I’ve been dreaming of having you like this.”
“In your car?” I manage weakly, and he raises his head to look at me. The intensity in his eyes only compounds the sensation, tightening my nipples, and I wildly wonder if it’s possible to come just from the way a man looks at you.
“Anywhere.” Davis rasps. “Any chance I get.” He brushes the neckline of my dress aside and clamps those full lips around the tip of my breast.
If there were an Olympic event in tit-sucking, Davis Sanderson would be a gold medallist. A keening noise echoes through the car as he uses his teeth to build me up, and then he’s moving, tugging the tiny straps down my upper arms, pinning them against my sides. Both my breasts are exposed, and he moves to suck my other nipple, teeth and tongue working in tandem to tighten the need ricocheting through my body.
“Davis. I need you.”
He moans and opens the passenger door, sliding off me and onto his knees in the dirt of the parking lot.
No, not away,my body screams. Here, in me, on me, all of it now. But I’m panting too hard to get the words out.
He rucks the fabric of my dress up my legs, his big hands gripping my outer thighs. “God, look at you.”
Something in his voice rings like adoration. I’ve never felt adored in my life, but right now, flat on my back in the front seat of a car while Davis kneels on the ground and grips my hips? I’m a goddess.
His breathing deepens further as he works the tight band of my control top underwear down.
