I summon every reserve of willpower I have and force myself to say, “That’s the whiskey talking, darlin.’”
“Maybe,” she whispers. “But that’s what I want.”
She’s killing me. I don’t know if any man has died of longing before, but I could be the first.
“If it were me who took your cherry…” I start, voice barely more than a rasp.
Fuck. I shouldn't even be thinking it.
But I am. I’m thinking about it in vivid, tortuous detail.
“If it were me, I’d kiss you through it,” I murmur.
I let my mouth find the curve of her neck. Not a kiss. Just my lips dragging slow along her skin, feeling her pulse jump under my mouth. “I'd take my sweet time.”
She makes a soft sound and tips her head back slightly, giving me more. I take it. My mouth trails down to her collarbone, her shoulder, tasting salt and summer skin.
“I'd put my hands all over your curves.” My palms slide from her waist down over the flare of her hips, squeezing once, firm. “My mouth too.”
I should stop there. Should keep it safe.
My hands keep moving. Cup her ass through the wet lace and pull her hard against me. Hard enough that there's no pretending anymore, no question about what she's doing to me. She gasps at the contact, hips rocking forward against my cock, and, fuck, nothing has ever felt better.
“I'd work you up real fucking slow.” My mouth drags back up her throat. Stops just below her jaw. Her pulse is fluttering wildly against my lips. “Get that pretty skin all flushed.” My hands stroke up her back, pressing her closer. “Your legs shaking.”
I drag my thumbs slowly up her ribcage until they're grazing the underside of her tits, through soaked lace that's hiding nothing. Her nipples are hard. I can feel them.
I brush across one stiff peak with my thumb.
The sound she makes goes straight to my cock.
“That,” I say roughly, against her skin. “That sound. I’d learn every single one.”
I slide one hand into her wet hair and tip her head back. Her throat exposed, her lips parted, her eyes gone dark.
“I'd take my time everywhere,” I murmur against her jaw. “Kiss every inch of you. Your throat. Your tits. That pretty virgin pussy. Until you're shaking and soaked and begging me for more.” My mouth drags to the hollow beneath her ear. “You know I’d make you feel so fucking good.” My grip tightens as a shiver runs through her. “But the thing is, darlin’… if I got a taste, a taste wouldn’t be enough. I’d need you in my bed every night.”
Her fingers skim down my chest.
All the way down.
They stop just above the waistband of my swim trunks and rest there, light as anything, like a question.
“Sounds good to me,” she breathes.
I nearly groan.
Her lips are parted and wet and so close. She's looking back at me like she wants me to close this distance more than she wants her next breath.
My hand tightens in her hair.
Her breath catches.
One kiss. That's all it would take. One kiss and her fingers would slip past that waistband and I'd have her back against the pool wall with her legs wrapped around me.
“If I could,” I murmur, “I'd lay you out right here under these stars. Take all night with it. Take you apart so slow that you’ll know what it feels like to be worshipped.”
I already know it would be unlike anything either of us has ever had.
