Her brows draw together, breasts spilling over her tank top as her chest heaves. My cock throbs.
“You’ve never kissed anyone before?”
“I have, but that’s about it.” I laugh roughly, rubbing my jaw. “My lab partner in eleventh-grade chemistry. We were friends, I guess. I thought I wanted something more—tried to force myself to want something more because I felt like Ishould. But after it happened...” I shrugged. “I didn’t think I was experiencing what I should have when kissing someone, so I... I never really tried again.”
Willow props herself onto her elbows, hair spilling over her shoulder as she tilts her head.
“Nothing at all?”
“Well, Willow,” I deadpan. “I did spend nearly two years in jail starting at the ripe young age of seventeen, so I’m not sure when I would’ve had time to explore sexually.”
She snorts a laugh. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” I smile softly. “But I meant it when I said I can’t risk fucking this up with you.”
“I think you’re doing great,” she mewls, lips curling into the kind of salacious smirk that has my cock pulsing. “We don’t have to go any further than this tonight. I just want to be close to you.”
I fall forward, bracketing her head with my arms as I press into the mattress, smiling down at her. “I want that too.”
She slides a palm beneath my shirt, dragging her hand up my bare chest. By the way my skin heats at her touch, I’m sure if I looked at my flesh right now, there’d be a trail of flame left in her wake. “We can still...” She sighs heavily, eyes tracking the movement of her hand as my shirt raises with her movement, bunching beneath my shoulders. “We can make each other feel good without going too far.” Her glowing eyes flutter upward, and I’m drowning in them. “I can show you.”
I whimper in response.
Willow Graham fucking owns me.
All I want is to sink into her embrace and let her heal every wound I never believed could stop bleeding.
“Show me, Wills.”
She tosses me a sultry grin, pressing against my chest. “Sit up.”
I obey, and she grabs the hem of my shirt, motioning for me to remove it. As I do, she lifts her hips, slipping off the cotton shorts she’s wearing, kicking them to the floor and leaving her in nothing more than pale pink panties and a tempting white tank.
Her legs fall open, and I desperately want to pull those panties to the side and see how wet she is beneath them. I want to ask her if it’s all for me and beg her to let me taste her. I’ve never experienced a carnal urge like this, as if my body knows exactly what it wants even if my mind can’t be sure.
Until all of me is aligned, I’ll follow her lead.
“Come here,” she whispers.
I fall over her again, cupping her face and tangling my fingers in the hair at her nape as I drop into the cradle between her legs, allowing my mouth to hover over hers. “Like this?”
I press into her, and she moans. “Yeah, like that. Roll your hips, Wes. Like you’re carving a gentle wave. My body is your tide.”
“Fuck,” I groan, kissing her hard.
She speaks in terms I can understand, painting an image I can envision. I pump against her, channeling all of the flow and fluidity I’ve gained in my years as an athlete. Grinding hard enough that I can feel the friction of our bodies, but not enough that I’m crushing her, I begin a steady rhythm.
She groans louder as I kiss down her jaw and over her neck, nipping her collarbones and suckling the skin of her breasts. Tasting and teasing and savoring every inch of her I can access with my mouth.
One of her hands tangles in my hair, while the other holds my hip, increasing the pressure as she begins lifting her body to meet me halfway. I’m so fucking hard it hurts, a pleasure more primal and powerful than anything I’ve known begins to gather at the base of my spine.
I’ve experienced release, but never like this. Never likeher.
“Willow, I—” I lift my head, finding her eyes searing through me.
“I know. Me too. Keep going,” she pants, begging. “Please, baby. Please.”
“Fuck.” My body reacts on instinct, bucking faster, harder. “Keep calling me that.”
