His hot mouth presses into the valley between my breasts, and then he shoves the lace fabric of the cups down. Taking a nipple in his mouth, his teeth graze my delicate flesh. My stomach caves and my hips buck beneath him. His hardness presses against me with each grind. He steals another punishing kiss, and I rake my fingers through his sandy hair—something I’ve wanted to do since forever ago.
I can’t believe this is happening, but I know if I question it too much, I’ll lose out on the moment—and I want to be here for this moment because this moment is everything.
His hardness rubs against the outside of my leggings in slow, rhythmic movements as he exhales hot, wanton breaths against the bend of my neck. He trails another path of kisses down my collarbone, along my chest, near the center of my stomach, and finally he stops above my waistband. With an unremitting jerk, he tugs my leggings off and throws them aside.
Lowering himself between my thighs, he presses them apart before kissing the damp mound of my lace panties, sucking my clit through the sheer fabric. My body trembles, surrendering as he teases me. With every soft stroke, I sink deeper into the sofa cushions and further from reality.
Sliding his fingertips beneath the sheer material, he rips the gusset. The sensation of cool air drapes across my sex only to be replaced by the hot heat of his mouth as he devours me harder, faster, greedier than ever. His tongue slides in and out, followed by his fingers. First one, then two. My stomach caves and my mind runs in circles, unable to wrap itself around what’s happening because it’s all happening so fast.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you,” he says. The scent of my arousal lingers between us as he works biting kisses into my soft flesh, inching closer to my breasts, my neck, and finally my mouth.
“Really? I never knew …”
He stops consuming me for a moment, tipping his head up until our eyes lock.
“I never wanted you to know,” he says. “I never wanted anyone to know.”
I try to speak but he silences me with a kiss, driving his hips and his hardness harder against me. The swell of his cock sends me reeling, and my entire body aches with anticipation.
“You should’ve been mine,” he whispers against my ear, sending a spray of goose bumps down my arm.
“I … I wanted you too …” I manage, breathless and hot. “I just … I was afraid to admit it—and I thought you hated me.”
He stops cold, his body freezing against mine as our eyes hold again.
“I never hated you, Jovie,” he says. “I was in love with you.”
Cupping his face, I press my mouth against his, letting his words play on a loop in my head.
Deep down, in the unexcavated depths of my soul, I always felt drawn toward this man in a way I could never fully articulate to myself. It was always a feeling. Irrational and inexplicable. A niggling sensation in the pit of my stomach, a silent “what if” question creeping into the folds of my mind here and there.
His fingers drag the length of my inner thighs before exploring me all over again.
“Put me out of my misery.” His voice is low, his tone demanding. “And I’ll put you out of yours.”
“I want you inside of me,” I whisper, wrapping my hands around his neck and breathing him in.
Sitting up, Stone tugs his shirt over his head before pulling his wallet from his back pocket. With his eyes never leaving mine, he produces a gold foil packet, which he rips between his teeth. His hair is messy, his chest rises and falls with hard, steady breaths, and his animalistic eyes glint in the dusky room.
This man wants me.
He wants me so badly he ripped my clothes off and devoured me like I was made solely for him.
My heart hammers in my chest. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, savoring the carnal scents mingling in the air—my arousal, his spicy aftershave.
The sound of his zipper follows next.
I open my eyes as he slides the rubber down his generous, veined cock. Shoving my thighs wide, he positions himself at my entrance, teasing my clit before sliding it in, inch by inch, until he’s all the way inside of me, filling me to the hilt.
I remind myself to breathe, to relax, but this isn’t about that. This is about pure carnal desire. His. Mine. Ours.
My fingertips dig into his arms as he drives himself inside of me again and again.
Deeper.
Harder.
Faster.
All of him.
All of me.
Nearly a lifetime of wanting, a lifetime of going without … has led us to this moment.
I don’t know where we go from here—I only know that Stone Atwood is not like the rest, and while it’s always been the worst thing about him … it’s also the best thing.