Page 46 of Some Sort of Happy (Happy Crazy Love 1)
My heart nearly burst open with longing for him. “Oh God, I don’t want you to, but this house is, like, right next to my parents, and—“
“Come home with me.” He released me slightly, keeping his arms around my waist and looking down at me. I saw that fire in his eyes again like I had in the mirror, felt the heat radiating from his body. “Give me another chance to make up for this afternoon.”
“Yes,” I said without any hesitation. “Just give me a second.”
“Skylar, wait.” He grabbed my arm, and I worried that he’d changed his mind.
His face was grave. “I want you so bad I can hardly breathe, but I have to be honest. I’m not looking for—”
“Shhh.” I put a finger over his lips. “I’m not asking for anything, Sebastian. I just want to be with you.”
Heart pounding, I ran into the house and pulled Natalie aside. “Can you grab my phone from the kitchen? If Mom asks, just tell her Sebastian and I went for a drive.”
“Awwwww,” she said, her voice rising like I’d been caught doing something naughty. “I’m gonna tell.”
I slapped her arm. “Shhhh! Just grab it please.”
Laughing, she ducked into the kitchen, where my mother was blasting Pavarotti and loading the dishwasher. Not that she’d have cared what I was doing—she’d probably have been happy, actually—but I didn’t want any questions tonight.
A moment, later Natalie returned with my phone. “Here you go. Have fun. Details tomorrow,” she said forcefully.
“Promise.” I scooted for the door.
“And don’t be late for work!”
I rushed back outside, where Sebastian was waiting for me at the open passenger door of the truck. “Everything OK?” he asked, helping me up.
I smiled at him. “Yes. Everything is perfect.”
“Good. Now buckle your seatbelt. I’m planning to speed.”
I drove back to the cabin with a heavy foot, one hand on the wheel and the other on Skylar’s lap. She held it in both of hers, almost like a child clings to the string of a helium balloon. I knew why—she was scared I’d change my mind.
But I wanted Skylar in my bed more than I could remember wanting any woman there. Maybe it was the ten-year crush, maybe it was the way she kept touching me during dinner, maybe it was the smell of her hair when I’d hugged her or the feel of her breasts against my chest. Maybe it was her willingness to be patient but also to push me to do things I was reluctant to do.
I still couldn’t get over the way she’d made me grab her throat this afternoon. What had possessed her to do that? Why did she trust me more than I trusted myself? What did she see in me?
Whatever it was, she’d silenced the voice within me. I knew better than to think it would last forever, but I hadn’t had one disturbing thought at dinner, unless you counted thinking about fucking Skylar with my tongue while her parents were at the table. That was kind of disturbing. But it didn’t scare me—in fact, when I was hugging her goodbye, the only fear I had was, What if I don’t touch her tonight and tomorrow I’m a prisoner of my own mind again?
I couldn’t waste this chance. I’d dreamed of her for too long, and I was tired of being so fucking alone. I wanted her. I needed her. Tonight. Now.
I took my hand and put it on her bare leg, just above her knee, tempting the voice to tell me to stop.
Nothing.
I slid it higher up her thigh, heard her breath catch.
But in my head, exquisite silence.
She widened her knees, inviting me, and I slipped my hand to her pale inner thigh, beneath her dress. The skin there was silky beneath my fingertips, and I traced a little spiral pattern, moving toward her pussy.
“I’m going to kiss you here,” I told her, never taking my eyes off the road. “And here.” I brushed my fingers over the crotch of her panties, and she spread her legs farther. “And especially here.” Edging my fingers inside the silk, I teased her open. She moaned lightly as I circled my fingers over the hot little button. “I want to feel your clit get hard against my tongue.”
“Oh God,” she gasped, tilting her hips toward my hand.
It was so fucking sexy I nearly pulled over. But I didn’t want to rush this. I’d been dreaming about her for ten fucking years. The first time had to be perfect, slow and sensual and romantic. Candles and wine and soft, clean sheets.
If I made it home.
