“No.” She groaned as he sucked her earlobe. “I don’t think I like Gavin. But I’m becoming a big fan of whoever you are.”
“Maybe you just didn’t know the real Gavin?” He continued his exploration, along the line of her ear, up to her hairline.
She pulled back then, her eyes searching his, his expression one of total surrender.
“Who is the real Gavin, then?” Dang, those words were breathy and husky and dipped in sin.
“Let’s find out together,” he said.
“Gavin,” she said, acknowledging the deep down need he apparently had to hear his name on her lips. To know it was him she sought, even if she didn’t know exactly who he was.
Hell, she wasn’t even sure who she was anymore. Not really.
“Molly.” He gave her the same in return.
She pulled back, searching his face, pressing her palms against his arms.
“Please,” she said, in a voice that barely sounded like her own.
And then there were no more words. There was only feeling and touch and the way their skin sounded moving against the other.
She wanted to make a joke about something—she couldn’t remember what because the punchline got lost somewhere between his lips and his bedroom.
Because somehow, during the make-out session to end all make-out sessions, they were on a bed—his bed.
The feeling was frantic and pulsing, as though both of them had waited for this moment. Waited for it knowing that it would end and when that happened there would be nothing but distance.
So when he slowed, when he took his time finishing
unbuttoning his shirt, it felt as though she might come apart at the seams of herself. Those invisible places in her she’d never realized existed.
Sex wasn’t like this. It may have been a while for her, but she’d definitely had sex before. This was something beyond the meeting of two bodies to find a release.
Sex was always fun, and it’d been fulfilling, but never something she craved.
Never this. Never Gavin. Gavin.
Holy crap.
She couldn’t let herself loose like this with Gavin.
She began to sink back into herself, the feeling of who she was overtaking the feelings of what he was doing to her.
“Gav—”
He must’ve heard the plea in her tone because his movement became less frantic. Less…everything.
He pressed up over her, panting, breathing heavy. And he looked…sorry.
She opened her mouth to speak. “I?—”
“No.” He shook his head, cutting her off and severing whatever she was about to say.
“What?” she asked.
“You don’t get to do that.” His jaw ticked. “You don’t get to hand yourself over to me and then take it away. You don’t get to take you away.” He shifted the slightest bit. “I did not come to this moment to finally get you, only to lose you.”
He looked as though he might combust.
