Page 71 of A Bittersweet Summer

When the screen door slams behind us, I hear the lock click into place.

Wes grabs my waist, spinning me until my back is against the door, his hands on my face, my waist, in my hair. His mouth devours mine, and I arch up into him.

Electricity skitters across my skin, my nerves lighting up like the fourth of July.

“I thought about pulling the damn strings on your bikini when we were behind the dock,” Wes confesses, and I squeeze my thighs together. His lips trail down my neck, and I fist my hands in his shirt, pulling him closer.

“Did you?” I say, encouraging him.

Wes pulls back, catching my eyes with his. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “But I wouldn’t have been able to do this.”

Slowly—so slowly—Wes lowers to his knees, staring up at me like I’m something to worship.

His hands find their way to the waistband of my shorts, gripping firmly. “This okay?” he asks, and I nod.

With deft fingers, he unhooks the buttons on my shorts. Flames follow his touch all the way down as he slides my shorts off. I grab the doorknob, desperate for anything to hang on to when he holds my hips, tipping back to sit on his heels.

“Fuck,” he whispers. His lashes kiss his cheeks once, twice, before he’s pulling my underwear down, too, leaving me bare before him.

Wes kisses up my thigh, kisses my stomach, my hip bones. He trails his fingers up the sides of my torso under my shirt, his thumb brushing beneath my breast.

I whine when his touch moves lower—until his hand is on my knee, lifting until one leg is propped on his shoulder.

With two fingers, Wes parts me, staring as if I’m a piece of art in a museum. “It’s your turn, Miss Summers.”

“My turn?” I question.

Wes’s pupils are blown out when he looks at me, black swallowing the gold. “It’s your turn to come.”

He tips forward, his tongue a slow drag up my slick center. My hand finds his hair, tugging gently as he swirls around my clit.

My legs are already shaking, breaths coming faster when his finger presses at my entrance. Another lick, another.

I can feel my orgasm building, my body pulsing with need.

“So soon?” he questions, and when I look down, Wes stares up at me, mouth glistening with one brow raised.

I shake my head, refusing to come this quickly. “No,” I whisper. “Not yet.”

“Mmm.” His head moves between my thighs again as he adds a second finger, flicking his tongue over my swollen clit until I’m so close to the peak, one more and I’m—

“Wes,” I breathe out, and he stops. My body is wound so tight, I’m scared it might just snap. I can feel all that energy trapped inside and waiting for release.

“Your legs are shaking, Miss Summers.” One big hand slides up the outside of my thigh as the fingers of his other hand glide in deeper, stretching me around him.

I groan.

“Did I work you too hard today?” he asks, another pump in and a long slide out.

The pressure is too much—I’m so close, I’ll be done as soon as his mouth is on me again.

“No,” I say, my head falling back against the door.

“Hm,” he murmurs, inching closer. I can feel his breath there—hot and gentle. I wriggle my hips. I just need more pressure, more friction. “I should work you harder then?” he asks, pressing a wet kiss to the inside of my thigh.

“Yes,” I breathe—no—moan. I’m rewarded when Wes curves his fingers inside of me, pulling them out slowly as he presses on my inner walls. “Yes, harder,” I say.

“Harder?” he asks, and I’m done playing games.