Yeah, Marianne Turner liked exactly what I was doing.
I let my tongue poke out, and glide up the side of her neck—exactly how she loved it.
And just like decades ago, she made a little gasp.
Which only egged me on further.
I kissed all the way up her neck, over her chin—but stopped before touching her lips.
“Do you know how many nights I’ve dreamed about kissing you?” I muttered directly over her panting lips.
Her fingers played with my hair, driving me crazy. “I didn’t think you even liked me anymore.”
That made me smile wider than I had in a very long time.
“Marianne, there’s only one thing I don’t love about you.”
Her head tilted in that cute way she had about her. “What’s that?” she asked in a curious voice.
Right before I laid one hell of a kiss on her, I answered her, “Your last fuckin’ name.”
God,every time she moaned I had to stop myself from plowing directly into her.
I wanted to go slow—but fuck me.
Having Marianne on my bed again—Christ, that scenario had only lived inside my brain.
Until about ten minutes ago.
Our tongues danced perfectly together as my fingers started undoing the buttons on her blouse.
“I can’t wait to see you,” I said between kisses, wishing my fingers weren’t so clumsy, and I could get her out of this blouse quicker.
I felt her hands on me.
Doing the same thing.
But faster.
Fuck.
I had to take a few deep breaths, or this would be over before it even started.
“I want to see you, too,” she said in a breathy moan.
Fuck.
When I finally finished with the last button, I stopped kissing her and looked down.
She wore a sexy as hell lace bra.
“Black lace,” I said, letting my fingers skim over her hard nipples.
I looked into her eyes, and she said, “Your favorite color.”
That socked me right in the gut.
Just like Marianne’s words always did.