We don’t stop making out.
We go at each other’s mouths more intensely, breaths coming faster, legs wrapping around each other, bodies tangling.
His hard-on presses against my pelvis, and the feel of him sends a wild, erotic thrill whirling through me, settling between my legs.
Yes, I have officially melted in his arms.
And at long last, we break the kiss, coming up for air. His lips are red, and his eyes are shimmering with something more than desire.
Something wildly powerful.
Maybe the same thing I feel.
I grab his shirt collar and own this moment. “I’m not nervous. Not anymore.”
“So, the corgi butts worked,” he murmurs.
I laugh softly then run my hand over the back of his head, my fingers curling into his hair. “Crosby?”
“Yes?”
I gaze up at him, speaking from the heart. I don’t want games, or plus-ones. “You’re the one I want. I want this with you. You know that, right?”
A grin tugs at his lips, playful and happy.
Wildly happy.
“I do,” he whispers. “I do know that.”
“Good.” All those nerves are long gone, and I’m so here, so ready.
So sure.
“And I want it to be so good for you,” he says. “Do you know why?”
“Why?” I ask, feeling like we’re hovering on the edge of something new.
He’s quiet at first, then he licks his lips. “Because this doesn’t feel like just friends with benefits, Nadia,” he says, unexpectedly intense. “Not at all, not anymore.”
My breath hitches, and tingles light up my body from head to toe. But they aren’t just tingles from desire. They’re from my heart. From the possibility that he feels the exact same way.
My chest is glowing, my heart is squeezing. And the rest of me? The rest of me is wanting.
Craving.
I tug on his hair, dragging him closer. “I’m aching for you.”
His lips crook up. “Let me take care of that.”
He sits up and unbuttons my blouse, keeping his gaze pinned on me the whole time. “I want to taste you first, sweetheart,” he says, and I arch my back, arching into that new word.
Sweetheart.
I’m no longer Wild Girl, or Wild Woman.
I’m sweetheart, and the significance isn’t lost on me.
The affectionate name, the possessive tone.
“I want that.” I help him along, unbuttoning my jeans, unzipping them. “But I have to warn you about something.”
He shoots me a curious look as I shimmy down my jeans. “What’s that?”
I take a beat, smiling wickedly, because I might be virginal, but I’m not innocent. “I’m outrageously wet right now.”
The groan that falls from his lips is carnal, and somehow it makes me even wetter.
We’re a blur of clothes and nudity as he tugs off my jeans and I push down my lace panties.
He slides down the couch, moving to the end, kneeling between my thighs as he parts my legs and gazes at me like I’m his next meal.
And I am.
“Fuck, you’re soaked, sweetheart.”
I have nothing else to say.
Nor does he.
Talking is overrated when there’s this.
This man sliding his hands up my thighs then pressing the most decadent kiss to my center.
24
Crosby
The instant I brush my lips over her heat, she trembles.
And she moans.
It’s the most fantastic sound ever, the kind of ohhh that says her toes are curling.
Hell, maybe mine are too.
Because . . . my God.
She tastes spectacular.
So slick and soft and aroused.
I want to bury my face in her sweet pussy, but I want to take my time too, to savor every second of the unraveling of Nadia Harlowe.
She’s a delicious conundrum, and unwrapping her sexuality is the best gift I’ve ever received.
As I kiss her wetness, I groan, an electric charge zapping through me. My God, she’s incredible, and so damn responsive.
Writhing.
Moaning.
Sighing.
I want to imprint each sound she makes, every lift of her hips. My hands run along her thighs as I kiss her, letting her scent go to my head, flood all my senses. She tastes like longing, like lust, like that dreamy escape into a tropical garden.
It’s wild and heady, and I want so much more. But I need to pace myself with Nadia, so I press gentle, tender kisses to her pussy, my hands traveling up and down the soft skin of her thighs. When I flick my tongue across that delicious rise of her clit, she arches her back and unleashes a strangled oh God. Her hands fly to my head, her palms curling around my skull.
Oh yes, sweetheart. Grab my fucking face. Grab me hard.
I will happily spend hours devouring her pussy.
With a wicked grin, I listen to her cues, giving her more kisses, more flicks of my tongue, and long, lingering licks as I lap up all the flavors of her desire.
Sweet, salty, desperate.
She tastes like the woman I’ve been craving.
She ropes her fingers tighter into my hair as I press a little harder, kiss her more deeply.
My hands travel behind her legs, over her ass, curving over her flesh.
That sends her reeling. Her hips jerk, and her voice hits the ceiling in a long, loud “Yessssss.”
So my Nadia likes a little ass attention. I’m down with that. I’m definitely down with that.
As I worship at the altar of her clit, I grip her flesh, squeezing her cheeks harder.
“Please,” she murmurs.
Consider it done, sweetheart.
I knead her ass as I devour her wetness, kissing her harder, licking her faster, and squeezing this most fine ass as I go.
Hard as steel, my cock throbs in my boxer briefs. Hell, my dick is leaking, and I don’t fucking care, because she’s losing it. Arching and moaning. Crying out and rocking her hips.
It’s beautiful and wanton, the way she seeks her pleasure.
She’s so shameless.
So bold.
And I love that I’m the lucky recipient of all her desire.
All her want.
She spreads her legs wider, opening herself up, a debauched invitation to consume her flesh.
Why, yes, I will gladly accept.
I break contact for a second, raising my face. My mouth is covered in her slickness. “Fuck
