God, I want her. I crave her so badly I’m shaking.
I shouldn’t give in. I should stop myself from even laying a finger on her.
But she’s giving me the chance to kiss her, be the first man to take her lips. That does something to me. Lights my possessive fire. Makes me want to growl that she’s mine.
It’s wrong and it’s dangerous and I should have my fucking head examined. Knowing the feel of her will only make my lust burn a million times hotter.
But I don’t care. I’m going to do it.
I’m going to kiss Whitney Chancellor.
Dragging in a breath, I push my way into the house and look around. It’s empty. Her dad is at work. Her mom is out getting stuff for Whitney’s party tonight. Vance is in the study, on a conference call.
It’s now or never.
Resolution firing up my veins, I march upstairs. Whitney’s door is cracked. I see her pacing.
I ease in, heart pounding, and shut the door behind me.
She stops and blinks up, meeting my stare. “Jett?”
Am I going to kiss her? That’s the subtext of her question.
I nod and stalk across the room, every move clipped. As if I need to leave all my doubts behind. As if I can’t reach her fast enough.
Finally, I cup her cheek and slide against her body. My free hand palms her nape. Willingly, she tilts her head and meets my stare. It’s not merely that she’s looking at me, but the way she’s doing it, like she’s completely open to me.
Like she’s completely mine.
“Whitney…”
There’s nothing else to say when the candy lips I want are so sweetly parted just inches under my own.
I bend to her, dragging my thumb across her so-soft cheek, and watch her wide hazel eyes slide shut.
Fuck, this is surreal. But it’s the best dream imaginable. Princess Whitney wants me, and all I have to do to please her is take her mouth with my own.
Yes…
Finally, I touch my lips to hers. I hear her little indrawn breath. She tenses against me, fingers digging into my shoulders. But the way she’s wriggling to get closer tells me she’s every bit as nervous and eager as I am.
This means something to her. Every bit as much as it means to me?
I sink into the kiss. She puckers, and it’s sweetly unpracticed. I regroup and redouble my effort until she’s less hesitant. Then I nudge her lips apart. She offers no resistance, shyly softening and conforming herself to me.
Need and impatience claw at my restraint. I’m slipping.
A groan tears free when I slide inside Whitney’s mouth. She welcomes me. And she’s like sugar on my tongue. I clutch her tighter as I deepen the kiss.
She’s with me, pucker for pucker, tongues stroking, lips clinging, breaths harsh.
Suddenly, she’s sinking onto her bed. I follow her down, wholly unwilling to stop kissing her, especially when her body is under mine, we’re alone, and she’s so obviously consenting.
As if my hands have a mind of their own, my palms wander her curves, skating the valley of her waist, cupping her hips, clutching her thighs. Then her legs are around me. I’m pressing my unflagging erection against her damp bikini bottoms, and our bodies are moving together as one.
Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever been this hot.
Whitney gropes until she circles my wrist, then lifts my hand.
Suddenly, I’m cradling the tender weight of her breast in my palm. I groan. The subversive part of me needs to know just how aroused she is, so I thumb her nipple.
She breaks our kiss to toss her head back and cries my name. “Jett…”
“Oh, princess. You feel amazing.” I squeeze her mound and close my eyes, letting go for this one moment. I haven’t done anything irrevocable to her. I can stop any time.
Right?
Under me, she shimmies and rocks. Pleasure jolts me with every move. The minute I realize we’re going through all the motions of sex with our clothes on is also the moment my hand seems to get its own ideas and shoves aside the little scrap of pink covering her breast. My mouth gets on the bandwagon and sucks the pretty dark nipple I just exposed, tonguing it until her back arches and her whimpers fill my head.
Jesus, I’m going to come.
“Princess…” I pant. “We’ve gotta stop.”
She shakes her head, trembling when my exhalations fall on her straining nipple. “We don’t. Please. I want you. I want all of you.”
Whitney doesn’t give me time to think, just wraps herself around me—arms, legs, lips—and wordlessly begs me for more.
I shake. The thought of being inside her nearly sends me over the edge.
Sure, I’ve had sex. Hurried-high-school sex. Drunken-frat-party sex. We-just-met-in-a-bar sex. Friends-with-benefits sex. Even screwing-an-ex-girlfriend’s-mother sex. But I’ve never wanted any woman the way I want Whitney.
I’m in love with her. I think I have been half the summer.