“Fuck,” David grates out, his fingers tensing on my thigh, digging into my skin as if to still me, or encourage me. The deep furrow of his brow makes me think even he doesn’t know for sure. He seems to be grappling with some profound ambivalence, and it keeps me still and silent until his eyes fall to my lips.
One of David’s hands threads into the mess of blond tangles at my nape, the other releases my thigh to brush his knuckles along my cheek. He runs the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. “You think I could forget kissing this mouth?”
I don’t reply. I did think that. I do think it, and I can’t help the flutter of shame that even after all that hard-worked therapy, my self-esteem with guys is still utterly pitiful.
But David doesn’t need a reply. He’s known me too long—too well. He shakes his head and lets out a short, soft ironic laugh. “You do, don’t you?”
I force a halfhearted shrug, admitting nothing, but his eyes are too close—too piercing—and they miss nothing, too.
David frowns, considering something. “You know, Bea…for all the confusing-ass shit you cause in my fucked-up head, none of it has made me blind—you realize that, right?”
I blink at him. What the hell is any of that supposed to mean?
Another head shake. “You’re…” He swallows down some unknown thought, and then blows out an exasperated sigh. “You’re fucking slamming, Bea.”
It’s such an out of character thing to say that I don’t immediately register his meaning, which, with even more exasperation, he seems to realize.
“Hot as fuck, Beth.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re goddamned hot as fuck.”
I breathe out a small giggle at his choice of words. But my humor is cut short by the reality of them. David has never called me hot.
I murmur a cursory thanks.
But David isn’t satisfied. His mouth slips into a roguish smirk, familiar but laced with something he’s never directed at me before—lust. “You are, Bea. You’ve been driving me crazy all fucking night.” He gently rolls his hips as if to punctuate his statement, and I gasp as he presses against my center in a way that has me raising my thigh even higher.
David’s lips inch closer to mine. “Do you believe me, beautiful girl?” he breathes, with another taunting roll of his hips, and this time, I whimper.
David’s eyes slam closed like it’s too much for him. “This is so fucked up,” he mutters to himself. But when his eyes reopen, all that’s left in them is pure, primal hunger.
No one has ever looked at me like that.
His look alone sets my blood on fire, and I push into his hardness with shameless need.
David’s hand tightens in my hair almost to the point of pain, like some kind of warning. But it’s one I have no intention of heeding, and when I rock into him again and raise my mouth toward his, he doesn’t wait to see if I’ll have the nerve to kiss him—he just attacks.
His lips roughly capture mine, his tongue invading my mouth, his stubble burning my skin. His hands are everywhere all at once, yet it’s not nearly enough. His weight shifts, and he rolls us so suddenly that I’m pinned beneath him before I can even steal a full breath, my legs folding around him, holding him between them like some wanton creature I don’t even recognize.
God it feels amazing.
I don’t even know if this is real right now. I could be dreaming, or it could just be that spell of the in-between hour before dawn breaks in earnest. All I know is, whatever it is, I’m grateful for it, and as David utterly consumes me, kiss by kiss, I know this isn’t going to stop short like earlier. I can feel it in every desperate slide of his tongue, every urgent roll of his hips.
He finds the hem of my shirt, my arms lifting and our lips parting at just the right moments—and for only those moments—to get rid of the offending layer. It’s as if every move is choreographed, coordinated in a perfect dance, like we’ve done it all a thousand times before.
His bare chest comes down on mine with finality. There’s no going back now. And how could there be? The sensation of his smooth skin, the light spattering of hair against my sensitive breasts, his weight covering my body…It’s all too much, and he swallows down my moan like he’s starving for it. For me.
We don’t stop for air until we’re gasping for it, David resting his forehead against mine like that’s how we belong. Face to face. Skin to skin. Breath to breath. It’s so unfathomably intimate, and I think I like it almost as much as his kiss.
Almost.
He pulls back to look at me, his teeth practically bared in an expression of pure carnal intent. Between my legs, he’s straining so hard against his boxers that I wonder how the cotton doesn’t give. And I want it to give. I want it gone. I want to feel him against me…inside me.
“Bea,” David says huskily. “If we do this…”
But I already know the end of the sentence. Maybe not the exact words, but the point. If we do this, it can’t happen again. Sammy can’t find out. It can’t change anything.
“I know,” I breathe.
I know all of it. And right now, I don’t fucking care. All I care about is experiencing what this feels like when I’m not some frightened virgin, unsure about doing it in the first place. When it isn’t all logistics and pain. I deserve to feel this with David—someone who knows what he’s doing. Who will make me feel good. Who already makes me ache for him in ways I never felt with Brian.
