Page 106 of Sucker For You

“Wes—”

His thumb parted the curls between her thighs.

Her next cry was wordless. Blinding, ineffable shocks of pleasure spiraled down her spine, into her toes. Her muscles torqued tight to the edge of exquisite pain.

Tight around him.

“Fuck, Isabel—” Wes’s slow, lovely grinding jolted. Cursing, he lurched up from the couch with her legs locked around his waist. He staggered to the bedroom, shouldering through the door, collapsing toward the mattress. But somehow, even as they fell, his arms were around her, cradling her, his mouth finding hers once more in the moonlight and dancing shadows, his hips circling again, his thumb rasping.

She sighed, whined, bowed up to draw him closer still.

Because she wanted to.

Because she could.

He was here, and so was she. No hallucinations. No pain, no fear, no shame. Just this moment, whispering joy as she shattered into sea foam around him.

Just him.

Just us.

And as he followed her with a groan and a cry through the turbulent break of her pleasure, toward the depths of his own release, she smiled into his mouth and the dark.

Mine.

18

Light and heat roused him.

Again.

Wincing at the brightness glittering against his eyelids, grimacing at a jab of numbed nerves in his right arm, and despite the taste of his own morning breath, Wes woke up grinning.

Light: a summer sun was piercing Monterey’s fog, so it must be close to eight o’clock.

Not that he could check his watch and the alarm he’d forgotten to set.

Because,heat: Isabel, sprawled across his squashed arm and his watch-wearing wrist. Her body was limp and heavy, one hand curled in the lone pillow they hadn’t knocked off the bed last night. Her other fingers were splayed over the reef knot inked on his chest. Sunlight whispered along her naked shoulders, a glow nestling at the base of her spine. Tantalizing contours morphed over her skin with every slow breath. An aurora of snarled hair fanned across her face, strands fluttering between her parted lips, teasing her nose.

She was snoring; laughter lodged under his ribs as he watched her inhale.

So beautiful.

He inched upright on his unencumbered elbow and reached out to smooth back her hair. Just so she wouldn’t choke, no ulterior motive. . . but it was a stupid idea. He lost his balance and toppled over with a muffled, “Jesus in a jumpsuit!”

Isabel’s eyes snapped open.

One eyebrow twitched.

Honestly, was there any other way to answer that sarcastic lilt than to roll them off his traitorous arm, to kiss her deep into the mattress, daring her to laugh at him—while hoping she would?

Her smile tasted of sunshine.

And her skin?

Her skin tasted of musky sleep and sweet salt when his lips skimmed her jaw, sucking with delicate pressure down her throat, nibbling across her breasts, her squirming stomach—“Wes, what are you. . .a-ah!”—and to her thighs. He exhaled against the pale curls between them, breathing in her shiver, stroking his thumb over her wetness gathering for him, fluttering his eyelashes.

“W-Wes—” Her fingers scrabbled through his hair, fastening on his ears.