“Of course not.” Dipping her head to my chest, she giggled in the most endearing way. “But can I just say… your Barbie’s so dang pretty.”
“I hate everyone,” I complained, but without an ounce of irritation. I pulled her closer, holding on with an exuberance I hadn’t felt in years.
Her laughter was contagious, and I was willing to catch her disease. I wanted so much more from her than just a quick lay. I could have that anytime. But this feeling of being close to someone who knew how to turn the light on inside me even during a blackout—I owed it to myself to see where it might go.
I was convinced Alexander Easton, the person I was born to be, would’ve taken a chance on a girl like Breeze. And so would I.
Better late than never.
Closing the final inches between us, my lips hovered unwaveringly close to hers.
Breeze accepted the invitation, leaning into me, a response I hadn’t expected but welcomed with the wonder of a small boy sampling his first piece of candy.
Was this what people meant by chemistry?
I gently stroked the baby soft skin of her cheeks, not sure if I’d ever felt something so inviting. And when my fingers sank into her hair, Breeze gripped the back of my neck and pulled me in. My lips crashed into hers, my whole body sizzling as the current pulsed between us, every nerve in my body firing in rapid succession. If this was how a kiss was supposed to feel, then clearly I’d been doing it wrong all these years.
A seductive little moan parted her lips and, as she tipped back, the radiant glow of her hair created a halo, prompting me to lose all perspective. I was officially her slave, willing to do whatever it took to keep this feeling alive forever.
I made another go at her mouth, and she yielded, our tongues jockeying furiously for position. For dominance.
This feeling. This connection. This is what I’d been searching a lifetime to find.
And then suddenly I was on top of her. Were we doing this? She hadn’t wanted sex. That’s what she’d said. But those sexy legs wrapped around my waist begged to differ. She was a tornado, an unstoppable force.
My mouth slid from hers before I got sucked into the vortex. “Breeze…tell me what you want.”
She had to say it. Because as much as I wanted her, I needed to know she felt the same.
A moment passed. And then another. And just when I was about to pull away, her lashes fluttered and she met my gaze with soft eyes.
“You.”
12
Breeze: The Morning After
Morning light streamed through the window, rousing me from sleep. I took a few moments to orient myself and figure out the tangle of bodies, human and otherwise. On my left, Bodhi Beckett, international popstar – yes, I was still trying to wrap my brain around that one - lay sprawled on his stomach, arms and legs stretched in every direction. Reaching behind me, I found the shirt I’d forcibly ripped from his body.
Nice work there, Breeze. So much for self-control!
He’d found the yoga pants sometime during the night. Probably to keep from getting ogled if I happened to wake up first.
Good call.
Heat flooded my cheeks as I recalled our brief, yet intense moments together. He’d worked me up into a frenzy of lust so by the time he’d posed the sex question, I was too far gone to offer anything more than a yes.
We’d barely gotten the condom in place before it was all tangled limbs and soft moans as he thrust wildly. Faster. Harder. More intense than anything I’d ever felt. I’d never felt more connected or more reckless in all my life. Quaking fury pulsed between us until we’d both collapsed in a spent tangle.
As weirdly disturbing as it sounded, I now understood what my lovemaking guru of a mother was talking about when she went on and on about the health benefits of good, unhinged fornication. Typically I just tuned her out because, number one, who wanted to hear that crap coming out of their mother’s mouth? And, number two, I’d never had an experience to match what my mother droned on about at length, so why bother listening?
See, Brandon had never been what you would call interactive. He was my first and I didn’t know any differently, so I’d accepted his ‘when he was done, we were done’ version of sex at face value.
But last night, I finished before Bodhi. Twice. And I was still enjoying the effects a full five hours later.
My gaze continued to skim Bodhi’s body before finally landing on his face. It was framed by dark, messy hair that touched down to his shoulders. At present, it was carelessly flipped over his forehead like a wave ready to be surfed. And although his show stopping eyes were sealed in slumber, I was certain the memory of their brilliance would be etched into my brain forever. So blue, like an arctic pond.
The man was blessed with beauty, all right.
