“Bedroom?” he asked, voice rough.
“Drew.”
His thumb brushed my bottom lip. Then the other. Gentle. Grounding. The touch said everything we weren’t saying out loud.
We were crossing the line tonight.
No one spoke it. We didn’t need to.
He stood, slid one arm behind my back and the other beneath my knees, and lifted me like I weighed nothing. Iwrapped my arms around his neck and let him carry me down the hall.
His bedroom was exactly like the rest of the house—clean, ordered, expensive—but I barely saw it. He set me down on the edge of the bed and stepped back just far enough to pull that ridiculous cutoff shirt over his head.
Golden skin. Broad, defined chest. Completely hairless, smooth and warm under the low light. My mouth went dry.
I reached for him. He let me. I shoved his sweats down. His cock sprang free—thick, heavy, already leaking pre-cum at the flushed head. I wrapped my hand around him, stroked once, slow. More pre-cum beaded and slid over my fingers.
“I want you,” I whispered.
He groaned like the words physically hurt. Then he was on me, kissing me everywhere—mouth, jaw, throat, collarbone, the curve of my breast through the jersey before he yanked it over my head and tossed it somewhere. His mouth followed, hot and open, tongue flicking over one nipple while his hand cupped the other, calloused thumb brushing the peak until I arched.
He stripped the rest of me with the same focused hunger—shorts and underwear gone in one smooth motion—kissing down my stomach, the inside of my thigh, everywhere except where I was aching the most. Golden skin and hard muscle moved over me, between my legs, careful of my hamstring the whole time.
I reached for him again, tried to pull him up, tried to line him up where I needed him. He caught my wrists gently, pinned them above my head with one big hand, and looked down at me.
“No, baby,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “I want you for real. I can’t do this. I’m breaking all the rules with you. And now I’m not going to be the one heartbroken on the beach. There’s no one to pick up the pieces when you break my heart.”
I stared up at him, breathing hard, body burning. “I’m so hot. I want you. You’re right here. And now you’re saying no. You’ve wanted this whole time and now you’re saying no?”
His eyes darkened with something that looked almost like pain. “You need to come, baby? I’ll take care of you. But I can’t. I can’t blend our bodies and hearts like that unless I know you’re in it for real.”
Then he kissed me—deep, slow, devastating—and slid one thick finger through my slick folds. I was soaked. He groaned against my mouth at the feel of it. One finger became two, curling just right, his thumb circling my clit with the same focused competence he brought to everything else. His mouth moved to my neck, my breast, sucking one nipple while his fingers worked me higher, faster, perfectly.
I was already close from everything that came before—the massage, his cock against my ass, his hands on my tits, the stripping, the taste of him. Now the pressure built fast and brutal. My hips rolled against his hand. My injured leg stayed safe on the pillows. Everything else shattered.
“Drew—” I gasped.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured against my skin. “Let go, Texas. I’ve got you.”
I came hard—back arching, thighs shaking, a broken cry tearing out of me as pleasure ripped through my body in long, pulsing waves. I saw stars. Actual stars behind my eyelids. My vision whited out for a second. He didn’t stop until I was trembling and oversensitive, until I was whimpering his name and pushing weakly at his wrist.
Only then did he slow, ease his fingers out, and gather me against his chest. He kissed my forehead, my temple, the corner of my mouth, soft and careful while my heartbeat tried to find its way back to normal.
I could still feel him hard against my hip. Still feel how much he wanted me. But he didn’t push. Didn’t take.
He just held me while I came down, one hand stroking my hair, the other resting warm and steady over my racing heart.
Chapter Fifteen
DREW
I held her through it,one hand stroking her hair, the other resting over her racing heart while she trembled and came down. That tan-toned skin of hers was flushed dark against my white sheets, glowing like she’d stolen every bit of California sun and kept it for herself. It was driving me out of my damn mind.
I wanted to kiss every inch of it. Every broken piece.
Her leg — the one she tried to pretend didn’t hurt, the one that made her limp when she thought no one was watching. Her heart — the one she kept wrapped in barbed wire and sarcasm because someone (or a lot of someones) had taught her that wanting things out loud got you hurt. I wanted to press my mouth to all of it. The scars she didn’t talk about. The places she still flinched. The parts of her that looked at me like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I’d been half in love with her since the first night I saw her.
