Page 85 of Hard to Score

“Always.”

He kisses his way down the line of my neck and murmurs against my skin, “I kind of like that about you.” His fingertips trace ever so slightly down my arms. “That and how you bite your lip when you’re frustrated with me.” He presses a kiss to my bare shoulder. “Or the way you try not to watch me when I know you’re watching me.” His tongue lines the shell of my ear and shivers chase over my whole body. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been keeping my hands off you, Brexton? To see you, to want you, to tease you, but to not touch?”

Is it sad to say I’m thrilled to know this was as hard for him as it was for me? That I’m silently rejoicing in the fact?

“Drew.” His name is a sigh on my lips. A thank-you, not for the frustration, but the reason behind it.

He leans back and our eyes meet. I feel like so many things pass between us. An acknowledgment that there is definitely more here than just sex. That this has been time well spent. Exasperating and sexually frustrating but well spent. That emotions are running deeper than we’re willing to let our words express.

But even unspoken, the weight of the moment is still there despite the playfulness a moment before.

And then without saying another word, Drew suddenly rises off me and walks away.

“What the hell?” I say confused, but then quiet with a scrape of patio furniture and a sound of metal on metal. “What are you . . .” My words fade when I see Drew walking toward me, hands unbuttoning his pants, then one hand on his cock.

“Blocking the door. After waiting two weeks and six days, I definitely don’t want to be interrupted.”

My body hums with an anticipation I don’t think I could ever put words to as he drops to his knees before me.

“There are things I’ve been dying to do to this body of yours, Brex. Things I want to touch.” He grabs my legs behind the knees and spreads them apart.

Good thing for boho skirts and their easy access.

“Certain locations I want to lick.” His fingertips trace their way up my inner thigh to their apex and run over the top of my panties.

I moan from his touch. It’s almost unbearable having him so close yet feel so damn far away.

Much like it has the past twenty days.

“Places I want to fuck.”

His eyes lock on mine as he dips his head down, hooks my panties to the side, and then licks his way between my seam.

I cry out. Buck my hips. Fist my hand in his hair. Lose all sense of everything but the warm, wet heat of his tongue dipping into me. Tasting me. Pleasuring me.

His groan is an aphrodisiac in and of itself.

But it’s not like I need much to detonate. The back and forth of the past few weeks have been a slow simmer, a fireworks show without a grand finale, and this right here—Drew’s tongue—is all I need to ignite and then explode.

It’s in my soft sighs and fisted hands as he licks and sucks and pushes me easily into the oblivion I’ve been teetering on since Miami.

It feels like forever ago but when I crash hard over the edge, all time is erased.

The palpable frustration.

The searing foreplay.

The agonizing waiting.

Because it’s just me and Drew and a deep-rooted connection I’ve never felt before with anyone else.

His eyes find mine as he rises from between my thighs. His grin is arrogant and his eyes are laden with lust.

And when he pushes into me ever so slowly, when my name falls from his lips in a sigh of desire, I know Drew Bowman owns more than just my body.

He owns my heart too.

Every damn piece of it.