But she doesn’t get to finish because my lips are in the way. My kiss is not sweet and sensual the way I kissed her last night. This is a deep, forceful, owning, possessing kind of kiss. The kind of kiss that comes from my toes. The kind of kiss that’s the only way to express what I’m feeling. That she is worthy. That she doesn’t deserve any of that. That she’s mine now. That she and Sarah are both mine. That I am not in control of my emotions and I don’t want to be in control of my emotions anymore.
I drive my mouth over hers and feel her body go rigid against me in surprise before she relaxes and kisses me back.
That’s it, girl. Take it. Take all of me. Nobody is going to kiss you like this ever again. I’m leaving my mark of protection on you. I push my tongue into her mouth, not hesitantly, not testing her. I just have to own her mouth. She lets me in without a pause, but with a small moan. Her moans alternate between surprise and release.
She breaks the kiss to look into my eyes. The reflection I see back is one of wonder and fear.
“Don’t be afraid. That whole story made me feel things, and all I want to do is make the memory of that guy disappear. I know it’s wrong to say I want Sarah’s dad to disappear, but fuck that guy.”
Jane puts her fingers to my lips. “No, it’s OK. Fuck that guy. He doesn’t exist. I don’t give a fuck, I just want you to kiss me like that again.”
This time it’s me who moans into her mouth. Her tongue is heaven inside my mouth, teasing me, tasting me, bewitching me. She transforms my rage into arousal. We’re both so lost in the roaming hands and tangling of tongues that our teeth, noses, and bodies jumble together and we don’t even stop to laugh at ourselves. We are two people grasping for each other like we’ve found something that makes sense in a world that’s dealt us unfair hands.
“Baby, I need to touch you,” I rumble against her throat before I lick her soft skin, then carefully suck, but not enough to leave a mark.
“I’m going to scream if you don’t,” she says.
We keep kissing and add in heavy stroking. My hands on her breasts, squeezing them through her flannel shirt. Her hands stroking my jaw, stroking my hair, occasionally pulling it, light fires in the darkest corners of my heart and soul.
I hastily unbutton her shirt while we kiss, and I slip my hand inside, feeling the smooth cotton of her thin t-shirt under my palm. She lets out a small whimper when my fingers stroke her nipple into a tight peak through the fabric.
She pulls away from the kiss, her fingers fisting the waffle-knit shirt at my waist. Jane’s face is flushed as her chest rises and falls with her rapid breathing. I reach back and pull the shirt over my head and toss it into the back. Her eyes rake over me, both of us breathless and licking our lips.
“What are you waiting for? Touch it. It’s yours.”
Her eyes roam over my chest and her hands follow. Our mouths come together again as her hands travel down my stomach and up the sides of my chest. I tug at the hem of her shirt. I need to get closer. My hands find her breasts under the shirt, the smooth fabric of her bra bringing up all kinds of deeper, darker desires that can’t be met in the cab of my truck.
“Babe. I want to keep kissing you, but I don’t want our first time together to be out in the open like this. Things are about to get really out of control.”
She pulls away and shoots me a wicked grin. “You’re right,” she says. “We should wait until Saturday night. The waiting will make it even better.”
Chapter Fourteen
Henry
She’s right. We should wait. Besides, we have a lot of work to do.
Still, I’ve never driven so fast with a truck bed full of stuff in my life.
With Jane’s hand on my knee propelling me onward, I just pray I don’t get pulled over by the cops. I’m already on the town’s shit list, and my day is not going to end well if the sheriff himself pulls me over; he’s one of the ones who lent a couple thousand to my uncle when the rainforest project was proposed. The old boy isn’t likely to go easy on me for driving 80 in a 55 mph zone out here in the sticks.
Arriving back at the pumpkin patch, we’re both silent as we unload all the stuff from the back of the pickup.
While yesterday was an easy day of work with her, full of good conversation and plenty of innocent flirting, now I’m going out of my mind. Every time she bends over to pick up a ripe pumpkin and hoist it into the wagon, I salivate so bad I might drool. When she’s zoned in on painting a sign for the pumpkin patch, tongue sticking out of her mouth in concentration, all I can think about is sticking mine down her throat. Every time I get an inadvertent flash of cleavage as she’s working on an overpriced pumpkin arrangement, my cock twitches a little more.
I spend all morning so fucking hard I lose all ability to answer her questions.
“Well,” she says, gesturing around the place. “What do you think?”
I don’t bother looking around, because I already know it looks good. But nothing looks half as good as this woman perched on top of Big Daddy, looking so pleased with herself.
“Henry, what’s wrong?”
My legs eat up the distance between us. I can’t take it anymore.
“You look mad. Are you mad?”
“No, I’m not mad. I’m in pain,” I rasp as I plant both hands on either side of her where she
