Page 33 of One Week With You
“Stop it.” She fell back laughing, like my grumpiness was the funniest thing she’d seen all year, maybe delirious with adrenaline and the biting cold.
“Never again,” I groaned, patting my chest which was thankfully still intact. Nothing hurt either. Also a good sign. “I’m too old for this shit.”
She laughed harder.
“Hey!” I rolled her under me, my hips cradled by the warmth of her thighs. Her hair was in disarray, damp from the snow, and her cheeks and nose flushed the rosiest shade of pink. She grinned up at me and I grinned right back before smashing our lips together. The kiss was two seconds of slow and then minutes of hot, dirty thrusts against each other without any thought but chasing pleasure. So much pleasure.
If this is what it’s like fully clothed…
Talia tugged at my hair, pulling me away from that lush mouth, all kiss-bitten and pink, and I blinked down at her in alarm, still drunk on her kiss.
“Take me to bed,” she whispered desperately. “Take me to bed right now.”
I would’ve taken her to the moon if she’d asked.
* * *
We staggered into the cottage, tearing off our scarves and coats and working through multiple layers intended to keep us warm but massively inconvenient. I sent the coat rack flying with an, “ooops, shit, fuck,” and Talia fumbled with the button on my jeans while I yanked at the zip on her fleece hoodie hard enough to rip it off. I stared at the metal in my hands for two bemused seconds and tossed it, forgetting its existence before it even hit the floor.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” I rushed out, peeling the hoodie from her shoulders along with her long sleeved thermal.
Talia loosened my jeans enough to slide her greedy hands right down the back, gripping the cheeks of my ass while I cupped her breast and my mouth found that smooth junction where her neck met her shoulder.
I bit down.
She whimpered.
She squeezed.
I moaned.
“I… I need to take my boots off,” she said, warm breath grazing my skin.
“Let me.”
I lifted her off her feet and set her ass on the coffee table. She wore nothing but a grey bra top and black leggings. She huffed a breathy laugh into her fist as I lifted her leg and swore and scowled through the zips and laces on her boots… how many fastenings did one boot need anyway? Talia struggled to contain that smile as I threw both behind me, shucked off my own shoes and stepped out of my jeans.
“I’m not doing this right if you’re laughing,” I said, ripping off her leggings until they turned inside out, and she was down to a pair of simple black underwear.
The second she was naked, I was going to lose it.
“I don’t know. You’re not doing it right if you’re not, in my opinion.”
“You want a clown in bed?”
She didn’t expect that, blurting out another laugh around my name, contagious enough that I did the same. It was ridiculous how every smooth, controlled part of me had flown out the window. I was wrecked for this woman.
Impatience burned beneath my skin.
“Definitely no clowns, just… fun,” she said, resting one hand behind her on the table and lifting the other to beckon me over with a curl of her finger in my direction.
And I went, like a moth to a flame.
My cock ached, pushing against my boxer briefs, and Talia bit her lip at the sight.
“What do you want?” I asked, standing between those perfect parted thighs, clenching my eyes closed when she leaned forward to first nose, then kiss the trail of dark hair leading down from my belly button. Her fingers feather-light, she traced the elastic of my briefs, and I held my breath for a second. Maybe two. She watched me watch her as she lowered the material, my cock springing up between us.
“You,” she whispered, those big green eyes gutting me as much as the admission. “Just you.”
