Page 72 of A Bittersweet Summer

“Harder,” I plead. “I’m so close, Wes. I need you to—”

His tongue is on me, my back arching as I cry out. The wave of ecstasy crashes over me, my entire body lighting up with pleasure as he softens his tongue, riding out the wave with me.

When it’s over, I slouch against the door.

Wes stands, his presence larger than life as he looms over me. With hands on either side of my head, he leans in until our noses brush. “Let’s go upstairs,” he whispers. “I need to be inside of you.”

I nod, a soft sound escaping my lips when he kisses me and reaches down, hauling me up until my legs are wrapped around him.

He carries me up the farmhouse steps, planting soft kisses on my neck, down to my collarbones.

When we’re finally in his room, he sets me down gently on the bed. That hunger is still there, but it’s softer now—gentler as he stares down at me.

“Take off your shirt, Cassidy.”

I obey, my fingers clutching the hem of my t-shirt, dragging it up until I toss it to the side. I don’t wait for him to ask. I reachback and unclasp my bra, throwing that over the side of the bed, too.

Wes’s shirt is the next to go, followed by his boots, socks, and jeans.

I stare at his briefs, his need evident and swollen beneath.

When I sit up, I scoot to the edge of the bed, pulling the briefs down his legs until his thick length is free. My fingers wrap around him, and he hisses.

“Cass,” he whispers, my name like a prayer as it falls from his lips.

My thumb trails up the underside of his cock, swirling around the tip.

“Sit back on the bed,” he says.

I watch as his chest heaves and slowly scoot backward until my head hits the soft pillow. He crawls above me, hands braced on either side of me.

“You are really sure?” he asks again, his gaze soft.

I place my hand on the side of his face, watching as he closes his eyes and leans against it. I press a kiss to his nose, his cheeks, his mouth. “I’m really,reallysure,” I say.

Slowly—so slowly—Wes moves closer. When his hips are nestled between my legs, I can feel him there.

I grab his biceps with my hands, feeling the strong muscle as I arch off the bed, encouraging him. My nails dig into his flesh as if I need something to hold onto.

With a steady glide, Wes presses inside of me, stretching me until I’m full ofhim. Full of his begrudging laughter and stolen smiles. I’m full of the quiet way he hums when he’s listening intently—full of his soft touches and longing gaze.

He holds my eyes as he does it, pulling out just as slowly as he entered. I can feel another orgasm starting, but this one starts deep in my belly—pulled from somewhere I can’t quite identify.

“Good?” he asks, his breath shaking.

I nod.

“It’s so,” he lets out a shuddering breath, pressing in—stretching—and then sliding out. Again. Again. “It’s sogood. You feel so good.”

My fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer until our lips touch, and we’re kissing. The movements are as languid as his thrusts.

He groans, I breathe, and Wes brings one hand up to cup my breast, his thumb flicking over my hardened nipple.

I whimper at the touch, moving my hips to match his pace.

We’re lost to sensation. When the orgasm finally takes me, his kiss deepens, his thrusts strong and steady until he’s pulsing and spilling into me.

Wes places another kiss on my forehead. “Don’t leave,” he whispers.