So much trouble.
Wrapped in his arms, I can't bring myself to care.
Because the truth is? I'd do it all again, break every rule. For this.
For him.
CHAPTER 24
INCH BY INCH
GREY
It's Saturday night, well past dark, and Molly is sighing into my mouth, her body soft on top of mine. We've been together all day--she came to the Rambler's game I coached, and we've been here ever since, pretending we're going to work on the house.
You know, because of the concussion and all. Hasn't been twenty-four hours yet.
A flash of warning shoots through my chest under her palm. Twenty-four hours, and I've given up every inch of ground I had to stand on. But that's nothing new. I've been handing it over inch by inch for weeks, if I'm being honest. Which I'm not.
We've been lying on the couch kissing for hours. Occasionally we stop and pretend to watch a movie or talk like we're going to attack the list of shit to fix around here. Inevitably, we end up like this.
My brain is pumping out so much dopamine, there might be permanent damage.
I don't know when I've ever felt so good. I'm sure there was a time. Maybe in college? But I don't think so. Not likethis.
My tongue traces the seam of her lips, and she opens for me, eager and trusting.
Christ, the taste of her, sweet and warm and addictive. Her hair is silky, soft curls wrapping around my fingers. My other hand is occupied with her ass. When I squeeze, she makes a little sound in the back of her throat, and I feel it in my cock, which I ignore. I could kiss her like this for fucking ever. Live in the shape of her mouth, the sweetness of her.
She breaks the kiss, rising to plant her hands on my chest so she can adjust her legs on the small couch, her outside knee keeps slipping. But even fully clothed, the sight of her like this, her tits bracketed by her arms and elbows locked, spins a string of images in my mind. I want her just like this, naked and riding me, lips wet and swollen, breathless.
My hips flex involuntarily at the thought, and she smiles down at me, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and grinding me right back before settling back on top of me to resume the slow, hot kisses. I trail my lips along her jaw, down to that spot below her ear that makes her shudder. There it is--that little hitch in her breath. She's practically purring, her body relaxed and pliant, tilting her head to expose her throat.
I give her what she wants. Press kisses down her neck, gentle and reverent, her pulse racing under my lips, then the vibration when she sighs my name.
I want to hear it again. And again. And again, in every pitch and tone of desire.
The doorbell rings, and she groans when I break the kiss.
"Dinner," I note roughly.
"I don't want dinner," she says, angling for my lips again.
I chuckle, give her a chaste kiss sit up and set her on the couch. She pouts. I adjust my jock.
The delivery driver is already pulling out of the drive. The porch light keeps going out and make a reminder to check the electrical work, but I raise my hand in a wave to the deliver guy anyway and pick the pizza up off the porch. When I see a bundle of wildflowers next to the post, I frown. Pick it up. They're tied with twine, yellow and purple and white. There's no note.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle with the breeze, and I scan the dark tree line, frowning. But nothing's out of place. So I shake it off and head inside.
"These were on the porch," I say, setting the pizza box down and handing her the bouquet.
"Oh, how pretty," she answers happily, burying her face in the blooms before pulling back to look at them again. "Was there a note?"
Shaking my head, I stride to the kitchen where I know she keeps her vases.
"Huh. I wonder who left them."
I fill up the vase and take it to her, watching as she pulls the twine and arranges them in the vase. "Who do you think might have?"
