Page 57 of P.S. It’s Always Been You
“Yeah, why’s that?”
I shrug playfully. “I don’t know. Why do you think?”
He slides a hand down my arm, around to my back. He travels farther, palming my ass, scooting me closer. I gasp as I press against the length of him in his jeans. “I think you want all the same things I want.”
“And what’s that?”
He brings his lips to my ear, whispering hotly, “You and me, honey. You and me.”
I’m melting under his touch, positively melting. “Maybe you could prove it to me.”
“Fine. I will.” He yanks me closer. Impossibly closer. Presses against me, hard and insistent. “Is that the proof you want of how much I need you?”
“It’s not too bad. But maybe give me a little more,” I say, flirty now because all is forgiven and has been since he said he was sorry.
“I’ll give you everything I have,” he says as he squeezes my ass then grinds against me, letting me feel how aroused he is. “Ever since I returned, I can’t stay away from you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop touching you. Because you and me, Presley, we have something,” he says, his voice fierce and full of passion, part of his proof of how much he wants me.
I want to be wanted.
But I’ve heard words like this before. I felt the same way long ago. “We had something before too,” I say, the words ripped from my throat.
“I know. Don’t you get it? I know.” He clasps my face harder, like he won’t let me go. “And this is what I regret. Because I’m not over you. Not one bit.”
I don’t trust myself to speak. If I try to form words, I’ll blabber impromptu love poems, haikus like I miss you so too; take me tonight and always; have me, I am yours.
He slides a hand through my hair, sighing, just sighing, like touching me is all he needs to live, to breathe. “Don’t you get it?” His voice is soft again, but just as strong. “I’m not over you, and that something we have means I don’t want you talking to other men. That something means I want you all to myself. And that something means if you say yes to me right now, I’m going to take you to your bed and make love to you all night long.”
I’m speechless, lit from head to toe with flickering desire. I’m shaking, I want him so badly. Yes, he’s leaving again. No, we’ve made no promises, and even if we did, those promises could be broken.
There aren’t a million reasons why sleeping with him is a bad idea—there is one. My heart.
I want to protect it.
But I don’t know if I can anymore.
Or if I want to tonight.
Maybe I’m going to let my heart break again, because right now, that feels like a chance worth taking.
He’s a chance worth taking.
I answer him with a strong and certain “Yes.”
He scoops me up in his arms and carries me like a damsel, and I laugh. “This is ridiculous.”
“It won’t be so ridiculous when my face is buried between your legs in about ten seconds.”
Well, that’s probably true.
He sets me down on my bed, and in two seconds, he yanks off my pajama bottoms then tugs off my panties.
His big hands come up, spreading me. I’m open for him, my knees falling to each side as I make my intentions clear.
Touch me, fuck me, love me.
“Beautiful, so fucking beautiful,” he says, like he’s praying at an altar.
I moan, and it sounds like his name. It sounds like falling, like getting lost in sensations that start with stubble on the soft skin of my thighs, that turn into a nip of teeth right there where I’m so damn sensitive, then transform into a delirious lick.
I’m unraveling, turning from woman to liquid desire to pants and moans to wild, spectacular sensations.
He licks and kisses.
Flicks and sucks.
But that’s not all.
He eats.
He feasts. He devours.
He’s loud, moaning and murmuring as he works me over, groaning as he kisses me like he’s going to die if he doesn’t get his whole mouth on me.
I arch and bow, my hips shooting up, my voice rising high. He spreads me farther, taking me there, and I fall apart, coming undone over and over against his face, his mouth, his glorious tongue.
I can barely see straight. I’m not sure I can think. When I open my eyes, it takes a few seconds, but I register the gorgeous sight.
Hunter stripping for me.
“Take it all off,” I say, and it comes out in a purr as I sit up, ravenous. I reach for him, unsnapping the button on his jeans, unzipping them and freeing his erection.
My mouth waters, and I’m so eager for him. I want to taste him, touch him, feel him. “Let me return the favor.”
