“I’m done listening,” she said, pushing off the couch. She didn’t need to hear any more words; she needed action. She needed him to know the day she met him, her life had changed for the better.
“I’m forgiven?” he asked, standing up, linking his hand with hers. She nodded and could practically feel him shaking next to her. Or maybe it was actually she who was shaking. “Can I finally take you to bed?”
“Please. God, yes.” She yanked off her coat and moved to kiss him, but before she could land anywhere near his mouth, he scooped down and hauled her over his shoulder, taking off upstairs.
* * *
Chris placedBronte on her feet once he reached his room and hastily scanned his mess. He got a quick flash of her dimples as she sat on the edge of the bed while he tossed laundry into the basket. She’d already taken off her boots but otherwise remained fully dressed. He bent for the briefest of kisses, raking his eyes over her.
“I don’t know where to start,” he mused, eager to kiss and lick every inch of her body. He wanted to go slow, delight in their first time together, and also fuck her into next week.
She pinched her shirt between her thumb and index finger. “You could start with this.”
Taking her advice, he undid the buttons, revealing more perfectly pale skin with each one. With it stripped off, he kissed both of her shoulders, then trailed a finger down her sternum to her black bra.
He lifted his head slightly to meet her gaze as he poked at the thick cup with a finger, only for it to spring back. “What’s this?”
She flushed crimson. “A lie. I need to buy padded bras to make me look as if I have something up top.”
Chris crooked a finger under a strap and lowered it, clicking his tongue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Naughty girl. Lying is a sin, don’t you know?”
“Like you haven’t before.” Her words came out rather breathlessly as he unhooked the clasp at her back with an easy flick of his fingers.
He tossed the offending thing over his shoulder and covered a nipple with his mouth, humming. Then he moved to the other, licking and sucking it to a peak. “But you’re supposed to be a good girl. And good girls don’t lie.”
“Do you want me to be good right now?”
He basked in the huskiness of her voice. “No.”
She unbuttoned his jeans, and his chest rose and fell in deep breaths when she palmed him, squeezing hard. Controlling his greedy urges, he gently pushed her down to the mattress, skimming his hand along her side to find the zipper of her skirt. It was long and tight, and she had to help him get it off, revealing miles of leg. He ran his hand from her thigh to her knee and back.
“I love your skin.” He bent, kissing the inside of her thigh. “You smell so good,” he said as he let his nose drag up her leg. “Fruity.” He traced the tattoo at her hip, an anchor with a heart above it formed out of a rope. “And this.”
“It was my first one. I got it at the beach during senior week. My parents flipped when they found out.”
He smiled, imagining young Bronte getting an illicit tattoo and probably thinking she was so sly, as his hands continued their journey, wanting to discover every inch of her skin like an explorer, mark her as his. Slowly, he skimmed his fingers up her rib cage, outlining each one, then moved on to circle her breasts.
“I want to tattoo my name on you,” he said, giving voice to his deepest desires to claim her.
“Cliché.”
He’d give her a cliché. He grabbed her shoulders and secured his mouth to the skin under her collarbone.
She shrieked as he sucked. “Chris!” She giggled and batted at him, but he held tight. “You’re gonna leave a mark!”
After a moment, he released her, running a palm over the hickey. “I claim this body in the name of Christopher Judd Cunningham.”
Bronte angled her chin down, trying to see the mark he’d left. “Judd?”
“After my mother’s father. What’s your middle name?” he asked, removing his shirt.
“Sophia.”
“Bronte Sophia Hollinger. Pretty.” He got rid of his jeans, leaving only his boxer briefs and the tiny scrap of material between her legs.
He rested his weight on top of her, kissing her neck until she groaned. Unable to wait any longer, he yanked her panties to the side, gliding his finger down to her opening. “Do you know how often I think about you? About this?”
“How often?” Her words were whispered on a breath.