Page 185 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
I want to argue, but he’s pressing gentle kisses up and down the nape of my neck. As he licks his way behind my ear, I can barely remember my own name let alone what I wanted to say to him.
I relax into him, relishing the contact as I rest my body against his lean, hard one. I’ve always loved Gage’s body, his crazy muscles and pale skin, so different from my own. When we were dating I’d spend hours curled up against him, pretending to be sleeping just so I could feel his heart beat against my own.
“You smell so good,” he murmurs, blowing softly in my ear, and I giggle. I can’t help myself, any more than I can help myself from being thrilled that he seems to remember everything that I like.
The kisses on my neck, the nibbling on my earlobe, his warm breath in my ear. Heat streaks through me and I turn to him, cupping his face in my hands and I stare into his crazy, mismatched eyes. One pure jade green, one clear Pacific blue, they’ve always been the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
He smiles at me, that crooked, half grin of his that’s graced the covers of a dozen sports magazines and made my heart flutter with every one I saw.
I rub my thumb over his perfect lips, shudder a little as he pulls it into his mouth and bites down softly.
Trail my fingers over the stubble on his sharp cheekbones and chin, loving the feel of it. Loving the feel of him.
Press my forehead to his and breathe. Just breathe.
“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper to him.
“I think that’s my line,” he tells me, dropping kisses on my mouth, my cheeks, my chin.
“No. It’s not. You’ve always been the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” Inside and out. That’s why it’s been so hard to live without him, harder still to forget him.
“That’s how I feel about you,” he says, and for the first time I realize his voice isn’t steady. Just like I realize that the newest wave of trembling isn’t coming from me. It’s coming from him.
The realization banishes the last traces of my own nervousness, the knowledge that I can affect this strong, beautiful man so strongly.
“Gage, I—”
He doesn’t let me finish, his mouth taking mine in a kiss so soft and sweet and desperate that I know I’ll never forget it.
My knees tremble, turn to gelatin, and I grab on to his shoulders to keep myself from going down. He laughs a little, but it’s not at me, like I thought it would be. No, his laugh is filled with the same joy, the same relief, that is rocketing around inside of me as well.
He pulls me more tightly against him and I go, thrilled at the chance to feel every part of him against every part of me. I slide my hands up the solid warmth of his chest until my arms are around his neck. As my hands lock into place on his hard, tense shoulders, everything that has been off-kilter inside of me also shifts into place. All my worries, all my fears, all my regrets disappear until it is just Gage and me and the incredible rightness between us.
He kisses me again, his lips skimming lightly down my throat to the edge of my turtleneck. When it gets in the way, he growls low in his throat and then pulls it off, flinging it across the room. He stares at me for a moment, his eyes running over my red tank top greedily. And then he’s kissing me and I’m running my fingers through his shaggy blond hair. He tastes so good, like honey and oranges and bright winter sunshine. I press closer, wanting more of him. Wanting all of him.
I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.
He must feel the same way because he kisses me and kisses me and kisses me. Until my lips are swollen and I’m dying for him to touch me, to slide inside me.
Frustrated, I press my lower body to his, relishing the feel of him cradled against my thighs. I can feel him even through the snowboarding pants, hard and hot and as ready for me as I am for him.
“Please,” I tell him. “Please, Gage. I need—” My voice breaks as the frustration overwhelms me.
“Shh,” he murmurs, maneuvering me over to the bed. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”
“I know.”
And then we’re stretched out on the bed, with Gage on top of me. He’s touching me everywhere, kissing me everywhere, until I’m nothing but a seething mass of sensation.
“Please,” I tell him as he eases my tank top over my shoulders.
“Please,” I murmur as he nuzzles my breast before pulling my nipple into his mouth.
“Please,” I beg as he traces his tongue around my navel again and again and again. “I can’t take it. I need—”
“I know.” His voice is huskier, harsher than I’ve ever heard it, and somehow that only ratchets up my need.
Then he’s stripping my jeans and panties off, burying his head between my thighs, and licking me to my very first orgasm. Maybe I should be embarrassed at how fast it happens, but I swear, the second his tongue finds me I go off like a rocket, clutching his hair in my hands and begging him for more. Begging him for everything.
