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And she’s finally snapped.
The knife goes skittering across the counter, clatters into the sink, and then her arms are around me, her mouth is coming to mine, and?—
I grunt as she jumps, legs going around my waist, tongue slipping between my lips, hands diving into my hair.
And then I’m not thinking about conversations that need to happen, secrets that need to be told.
I’m feeling.
Her gorgeous body against mine, the sweet taste of her tongue as it glides over mine, hair on my skin, tits pressed to my chest.
Mine. All fucking mine.
And that I almost gave this up, that I took it this far, almost to the point of no return, that I thought I could live without it, without her?—
I had lost my fucking mind.
And I need to beg her for forgiveness, thank her for being willing to at least hear me out?—
She pulls at my hair. “Stop thinking and kiss me back.”
So…
I do.
Because if I’ve learned anything from my idiocy over the last year, it’s that the future is fragile, changeable, can unravel into a thousand strands of nothing.
Sometimes it’s best to just leap into the present and?—
Grab on.
I spin around, settling her onto the counter, not giving her a second to breathe, to think, to change her mind. I rip her shirt over her head, toss it aside, and immediately undo the clasp on her bra, sliding the material down her arms, dropping it to the floor.
Breasts and taut nipples that call for my mouth.
But I don’t get to taste because she’s reaching for my shirt, yanking it up and off. Then shoving at my sweats, my underwear, freeing my dick in one strong push of the material.
I step out of it, bend for her again, but she’s moving, reacting, taking what she wants.
Fucking. Love.Her.
Slender fingers pushing down her leggings, her underwear, using one foot and then the other to drag them off her ankles, to kick the stretchy black Lycra free.
And then she’sfree.
Touching her fingers to my chest, to the spot over my heart, holding my eyes. “I love you too,” she whispers.
A dagger to the heart.
Guilt sweeping through me.
I open my mouth to tell her, to explain—fuck the timing—but then her hand is dropping away and she’s turning, giving me a view of an ass that is so lush and curvy and beautiful that my knees actually wobble.
I lock them so I don’t end up on my own ass, cock tightening, throbbing, my hand wrapping around it tightly, stroking up and down, up and down.
She bends forward, rests her elbows on the counter.
Then glances over her shoulder at me.
