Page 30 of Letting Go

I need to get out of these shorts.

Chapter Nine

Chloe

When Bryce starts to kiss me again, I feel like I might faint. Lightheaded and feeble, from lack of sleep, no food, I don't know what, I can't seem to breathe. Or maybe it’s just him. I cannot believe this man, this massive man is holding me like this. I feel so safe in his arms, so protected from the outside world. So able to let go of a past I can’t remember when I'm with him. He slowly unzips my swimsuit, gently pulling the straps down, peeling it from my body. He pulls it to the floor. Rising, he looks so hungry, so appreciative, I want to cry and I lean my head against his wide chest.

His heart beats hard and fast as well and the next thing I know he's lifting me, carrying me like a child.

I'm tall. Five-foot ten. The last man to pick me up was my father when I was nine and broke my arm. Bryce carries me gently to the bed. The down mattress is so soft, my body just sinks. We listen for just a moment, as things creak and pop as slats adjust to the tension of more weight.

"I think it’s going to work," I say and look up at him.

He starts unbuttoning his shirt.

"Let me." I unbutton it but make him keep it on.

It's open, gaping, and his breath is ragged, his chest flushed. Heat wafts from the open shirt. His cutoffs slip to the floor.

"You've got big plans," I say as he lays a square tinsel packet next to the bed.

"That's just in case."

I wait a moment, feeling his gaze travel over my body and there's pulsing between my legs, synchronized to my breath. His breath, our breath.

"Well, you need to get it on," I say. "Now."

Instead, he leans over me, positioned as if he's about to do a set of pushups. But he doesn’t touch me. Slowly, elbows bent, he lowers his lips to mine.

I can feel the heat of his body from the open shirt, see his nipples harden, taste his lips on mine: soft, warm, tender at first, and then his tongue enters and reaches into some psychic center. The way his body is stretched out above me hard, taut, every core muscle engaged, but with only his mouth on me, is brutal.

I reach up and slide a hand under the gap of white cotton, between his skin and the material, and brush a nipple.

"Chloe, damn you," he says, and he sucks air, gasping.

I slide another arm around his waist. His back is hard and my finger finds a way into his crack. My other hand presses on his chest, following his ribcage.

He lifts an arm and shrugs out of one sleeve, lifts the other arm and pulls the shirt off completely. He wads it up in his hand and tucks it under my head.

"Better?" he asks, his breath uneven.

"I don't think anything can get better."

"Oh, I'm sure it can," he says and lowers his head again for another kiss.

I close my eyes. This time, anticipation makes his lips even sweeter, and as I raised my head, he has to shift and lean forward, and my hard nipples brush his chest. I open my eyes. His abs are above my stomach, lean, hard, but it’s his chest I stare at. His pecs are like rock and his arms are just starting to shake.

Still, he doesn't lower himself onto me.

"Oh my God, Bryce. Oh my God, are we going to do this?" It’s a whisper.

Desperate to feel him on top of me. I start to raise my hands to pull him down, but he shakes his head. "Just touch me."

"How long can you stay like this?"

"A long time," he whispers in my ear, and then his mouth crushes mine.

I'm almost afraid to touch him, like I'm going to ruin it. I pull back again and he gazes down at me, those caramel eyes calm, determined, sexy. But he's panting slightly. Then he lowers himself to his knees, straddling my body and his weight settles on my legs and pelvis.