When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
She rests her forehead against mine and whispers, “I want to say ‘take me home,’ but I think we probably have to report this, right?”
I glance at her Bronco. The back end’s scraped along the guardrail, and the rear tire completely shredded. “Yeah. I’ll take care of it.”
Two hours later, her Bronco is on a tow truck, and the cops have their report. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.
When we pull onto the highway, her hand is clasped in mine.
Neither of us lets go the whole way home.
TWENTY-SIX
Summer traces circleson the back of my hand as we pull into the driveway.
I kill the engine, but neither of us moves.
I don’t know what comes next. I only know I can’t let go of her.
The two hours on the side of the highway—police lights flashing, tow truck hauling her Bronco away—all of it disappears. All that matters is her hand in mine and the fact that she’s here. That she’ssafe.
“C’mon.” She opens her door, and I follow.
My heart hammers the entire way to the front door.
As soon as the door closes behind us, Summer drops her purse and turns to me. For a beat, we just stare at each other. Then, she’s moving.
I manage to set her guitar case down before her lips are on mine, her leg hooking around my hip. One of my hands fists in her hair, the other grips under her thigh, pulling her against me. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat that makes my dick pulse.
She rocks against me, and my head falls back. “Should we… Do you want to talk more? Figure out?—”
“Later,” she breathes, urging me back down.
Her teeth graze my bottom lip, and I forget what we’re supposed to talk about.
“Are we actually doing this?” I manage between kisses.
“Yes.” Summer nips at my ear.
I tighten my hold, carrying her up the stairs. Her legs lock around my waist, and every kiss she presses to my neck, every scrape of teeth, drives me closer to insanity.
When I reach the top landing, she squirms, and I pin her against the hallway wall. I grip her jaw and bring her lips to mine, needing to taste her.
She grinds against me harder. “Miles,” she gasps.
“I know, honey.”
“Need you,” she mumbles; it comes out more moan than plea.
I head straight for my bed, laying her down in the center. She sinks into the white comforter, hair fanned out around her, lips swollen.
I’ve imagined this more times than I can count, but nothing compares to the real thing.
I drag a finger across the exposed skin at her waist where her shirt rode up. Her stomach muscles tense under my touch, and her hips move. I want to taste every inch of her.
“C’mere.” She reaches for me.
I shake my head and straighten, pulling off my quarter-zip, then my T-shirt.
