Page 119 of Go Back to December

They swim along the firm lines of his graceful body, stroke back and forth where his neck meets his shoulder. I press down on his pectoral muscles. When my thumb sweeps across his nipple, he hisses my name, and heat pools between my legs.

He mirrors my touch with his hands. Our caresses are like synchronized swimmers. We breathe in time together.

His hooded gaze falls to where my hands move over him.

Our lips meet; our bodies fold together, curves and lines pressing until we’re locked tight. It’s not close enough, not even when he hitches my leg over his hip, fits the hardest part of him into the softest, neediest part of me.

We moan collectively at the contact.

“Practice?” I tease.

He growls a denial as his tongue flicks patterns down my neck.

His fingers return to my waistline, and he pauses. “Is this what you want?”

I’ve told him a thousand different ways, but he’s still checking in to make sure, and my heart swells. “Yes, I want this. I want you.”

The smile on his face turns predatory, but when I uncoil my limbs and slide off the bed, he frowns. I stretch one hand toward him, curling my fingers to beckon him over. As quickly as his injured leg allows, he rises to meet me.

My fingers assume their own dance at his waistline. With the same rhythm, I press kisses to his bare chest, trace small circles with my tongue. I relish the salty taste of his skin, the way he gasps my name as he buries one hand in my hair. His other hand tears the brace off his knee.

When my fingers reach the button of his pants, a broken sound echoes from his throat.

I lift my eyes to his and he nods, lips parted. I loosen the button, unzip his fly.

Beneath my hand, he’s rock hard as I palm him through the soft fabric of his boxer briefs.

He chokes. “Keep that up, and this will be over before it starts.”

My hands creep back up his toned torso and I gently walk him back to sit on the side of the bed. “Can you lie back for me?”

As he complies with my request, I nudge myself between his legs and caress his toned chest.

“You’re having all the fun,” he grinds out.

“And you’re being such a gentleman about it.” I kiss a path down his ribs, to the waistband of his pants. “Would you like some help in removing these?”

He lifts his head, his gaze on fire as he relinquishes a nod.

My selfish hands are already at work, pulling off his pants and boxer briefs in one motion. I peel them down his long legs, and get rid of his wool socks while I’m at it.

Then I stand up and take in the full glory of his long, toned body.

His chest pumps. Two red patches color his cheeks. Gentleman Johnson isn’t used to someone looking at him with this much adoration.

He’s so beautifully formed. A trim swirl of dark hair creeps down his chest, into that beautiful vee of his hips, to more dark hair and an impressive length showing his want.

“Melody.” His voice breaks with impatience. Longing.

It’s how I feel. Looking at him.

“If I can’t touch you soon, Annabel will come back tomorrow to a fuckton of broken glass.”

I tip my head back and laugh. He’s fisting the blankets, and his blatant frustration sends sparks of joy through me.

Hooking a thumb in the side of my leggings, I pull them down so that I’m just as bare standing before him.

Slowly, he retreats toward the pillows, sinks back and blinks.