Page 17 of Return

Renting a cabin had sounded like a great idea until they’d been cooped up alone together. That was when they realized the only thing they had in common was great sex and nothing else. They’d cut the trip short and called it quits the second they made it back home to Vancouver.

And if those reasons weren’t enough to convince him to keep his hands to himself, the fact that Vivian had a kid—a five-year-old daughter—definitely should do the trick. Dean might be a father himself, but he’d missed every damn year between birth and eighteen.

Then Vivian’s fingers slid through his hair, closing around it as she gave him another one of those sexy sounds of hers.

His resolve to do the right thing dissolved then and there.

He broke off the kiss. Not because he planned to stop. God, he couldn’t if he tried. Vivian was one hell of a beautiful woman, with lots and lots of very kissable places. His lips slid along her soft pink cheek, traveling to just behind her ear, before they slipped down the side of her slender neck.

Vivian wasn’t a passive player in any of this, planting her own sweet kisses on his face, her hands in constant motion, gripping his shoulders, cupping his jaw, clenching tight to the sides of his waist. He wished she would follow his lead and dip them beneath his T-shirt. He needed her hands on him. Everywhere.

Time lost all meaning as the kisses and touches lingered, growing bolder and hungrier.

Dean pushed his hand around her back, seeking the hooks on her bra. Vivian helped him, lifting herself to make the task easier, even as she nipped his lower lip enough to hurt but not break the skin.

He pulled away, eyes narrowed, until her impish grin grew wider and those dark eyes of hers twinkled even in the dim lighting.

“Bad girl,” he murmured under his breath.

She huffed out an unrepentant laugh that was cut short when he found success with her bra. Once it was unfastened, he wasted no time slipping his fingers beneath the lace, applying the same biting pressure as he pinched her nipples.

Vivian gasped, but the fact her back was arched—an unspoken demand for more—ensured that he didn’t relent. Especially when paired with her hissed, breathless, “Yes.”

Dean was practically panting himself. Especially when Vivian lifted her legs, crossing her ankles at the base of his back to press her pussy against his cock.

There were too many damn clothes between them. But changing that fact would take them from point A to Z way too fucking fast—and Dean was still determined to talk to her before they went too far.

Jesus. As if they hadn’t already.

Dean forced himself to break the kiss, to find the words to slow—no, stop this. Because of the reason that was the real number one on his list.

“Vivian,” he said. “Have you been with anyone since⁠—”

Vivian’s fingers pressed hard against his lips, unwilling to hear his question.

Once she silenced him, she took things a step further, gripping the back of his neck, pulling him down on top of her roughly. Her legs tightened around him as she slammed her lips back against his in a kiss so passionate, he felt light-headed.

If her goal had been distraction, she’d hit the bullseye.

Dean returned the kiss with interest, suddenly struggling to remember his own name, let alone a bunch of bullshit reasons about why this wasn’t the best fucking idea ever.

They kissed until the air ran out, until they had to part to draw in deep breaths or suffocate. Dean gazed into her eyes, searching for…something, though he wasn’t entirely sure what. If he’d seen any speck of doubt or confusion, he would have found the ability to get out of this bed, but instead, her expression mirrored what he was certain he’d see on his own face if he was standing in front of a mirror.

Pure, unbridled need.

Her eyes held his, and it was as if they’d each found the ability to speak without words. That was the only answer he could come up with when Vivian pressed on his shoulder, and he knew without her adding directions exactly what she wanted.

He pushed himself up, kneeling between her outstretched thighs, reaching down to gently pull her upright as well.

With one hand, he gripped the back neck of his T-shirt, pulling it over his head as Vivian mimicked his movements, drawing off her shirt and bra in one smooth, quick move.

They paused for a moment, neither of them bothering to play coy. He devoured her with his gaze, and she did the same, soaking in every part of him she could see.

He’d been wrong about her breasts. They weren’t just spectacular, they were a goddamn masterpiece, her areolas large and dark, her nipples mouthwateringly hard. He could see the slightest marks of his fingers from his earlier pinches, and something feral inside him awoke.

No. It didn’t just wake up. It broke free after a lifetime spent in a cage.

Dean cupped her breasts again, taking one in each hand, pushing them upward as he lowered his head. She was a feast, and he was a starving man.