Page 20 of Grip Me Tight
Sterling
Ican’t believe this is finally happening.
I’m in heaven.
I’m afraid I’ll never be able to let you go.
The whole situation is surreal, from the way his hand tangles roughly in my hair, like I’m his only lifeline, to the gentle way he’s touching my face, like he’s holding a butterfly and doesn’t want to scare it away. His lips are firm against mine, the aggressive stroke of his tongue sending liquid heat flooding through my veins. My body feels heavy, languid, but also like I’m floating. When he’d kissed me before, at this same party, five years ago, the press of his mouth to mine had been tentative, a fairytale G-rated kiss compared to this… this dirty fantasy come to life. His thigh edges between my legs pressing hard against the seam of my shorts and a slight tug on my hair sends sparks of pleasure racing down my spine, an ache blooming at my core as I arch against him. His teeth nip my lower lip, a sharp burn in contrast to the silky trail of his tongue down my neck.
A moan falls from my lips. Heat wraps around me as he drags me closer, my pussy riding his thigh. Is this really Tanner? Each lash of his tongue soothes every sarcastic taunt he ever launched at me and his warm breath upon my skin erases every moment his cool eyes caught mine before looking away like I was barely worth the effort.
His kiss gentles and his hands lose their desperate grasp, sliding up to cup my jaw while he presses a kiss on my nose before dropping his head to mine. I grip his shirt, shaking slightly, needing that hard pressure of him between my legs. This can’t be all I get of him. This taste of wild, crazy desire that feels like being on a roller coaster at night, blind to everything but sensation while your brain struggles to keep up.
“Tanner,” I whisper, not knowing what I want to say, so afraid he’ll do what he did five years ago and walk up that path away from me.
His fingers clutch my jaw tighter. “Do you want me to stop?”
I’m afraid to move. “No.”
“It’s just this night, this moment, Silver. I can’t give you more than this.”
I’m confused. Why doesn’t he just kiss me again? “I’m not a little girl, Tanner. Sleeping with you doesn’t mean I want to marry you.”
“We’re not sleeping together.”
“Fucking, then. Is that the word your groupies use?” My mood is rapidly deteriorating, and I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth hard, as stupid tears fill my eyes. I’m not crying over him again. Ever again.
His breath feathers my hair as he laughs, but there’s little humor behind it. “You are not now, nor will you ever be, a groupie.”
I want this. I’m swollen, aching and I feel like my clothes are too tight, too hot. I want him in the softness of this summer night with the warm breeze ruffling my hair and the gentle rhythm of the waves pushing against the dock, the push-pull of the water echoing the tension between us.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and his breath shudders out, but maybe I’m imagining it. He’s not linked with anyone presently, he’s never linked with anyone, but I know the whole music scene works, or at least I can picture it, from the details Noah used to overshare, plus what I’ve put together over the years. It’s hard when there’s a whole twitter account dedicated to your brother’s sexual exploits.
And thinking about Noah is a total mood-killer right now.
I tilt my head back, bumping Tanner’s chin, and he pulls back slightly, his arms sliding down to loop at my lower back. We stare at the stars, just standing in the space together, the sounds of the party far away. If I don’t do something, this moment is going to slip by and I’m going to kick myself, probably for another five years, remembering how it feels to be held by Tanner Steele.
Every cell in my body is lit up. Being around him is like that time I went to a Nordic spa and experienced the intensity of moving from a sauna to an icy-cold plunge pool, which is kind of a metaphor for my whole relationship with Tanner anyway – extreme hot and cold.
If one night is all I get, I’m going to make it good. Something to forget every touch that’s ever come before. Maybe I can be a born-again virgin.
I laugh softly and his gaze meets mine. “Something funny, Silver?”
“This. Us.”
“There is no ‘us’,” he says flatly, but he doesn’t let me go.
I might be imagining the tightening of his arms around me, but I don’t think so. I sigh, deliberately rubbing my chest against him, shivering at the contact.
He glides his hands up my back. “Cold?”
“Hardly.”
“We should go back.”
“You should make me forget.” That slips out before I can stop it.
He jerks me away from him, his hands gripping my shoulders, a frown on his face. “Forget what?”
