His expression softens. “Whatever you want.”
That almost breaks me. Because I am used to men wanting things. I am not used to men making room for whatIwant.
And right now, what I want ishim.
I shift closer, as if pulled toward him on a wire. Like this isinevitable.
His hand comes up, not grabbing, not taking. Just touching my cheek with the backs of his fingers, like he wants to make sure I’m real.
Then he kisses me.
Soft at first. So soft I almost ache with the need formore.
His mouth is warm and careful, giving me time to lean in, to decide, to melt. And I do. I melt right into him, one hand curling in the front of his shirt, the other sliding up to his shoulder.
Then I make a small sound against his mouth, and Joel goes still for half a heartbeat before his control slips.
He kisses me deeper, his hand sliding into my hair, his other arm wrapping around my waist to pull me closer. I end up half across the bench, pressed against him, my knees tucked beside his thigh, my heart racing so fast I’m sure he can feel it.
His mouth moves to my jaw, then the side of my neck, and I tip my head back without thinking, moaning for more.
“Rayna,” he murmurs against my throat.
Joel pulls back and looks at me for a moment, his eyes dark, his expression open in a way that undoes me completely.
“You tell me if you want to stop,” he says.
I reach for the hem of his shirt. “I don’t want to stop.”
He lets me pull it over his head, and I get a long moment to appreciate the view. I press my palm flat against his sternum and feel his heart beating hard and fast beneath the warmth of his skin.
Good. He’s not as steady as he looks.
His hands find the hem of my tank and he pauses, asking without words. I lift my arms and he tugs my shirt over my head. His eyes move over me slowly, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world and intends to use it.
His mouth finds my collarbone, my shoulder, the curve of my neck. I sink my fingers into his hair and hold on. Every kiss is deliberate, every touch considered, and I realize this is justhow Joel does things—careful, present, making sure I feel every single second of it.
It is going to ruin me.
His mouth teases the lace of my bra, bringing my nipples to stiff peaks as I moan his name. His lips move back to mine as he fidgets with the clasp of my bra, his tongue sliding against mine as my bra falls to the floor of the boat.
I climb into his lap, pleased to feel his hard cock beneath me.I can’t wait to do something about that…
He gently pulls on my nipples, as we continue to make-out like frenzied teenagers. I reach for the button of his pants and his breath catches. A small, sharp sound that sends heat flooding through me becauseI did that.
I made this composed, steady man lose his breath. He helps me strip the remainder of his clothes off, and then I do the same, enjoying the heat in his eyes as he watches me.
He pulls me close, sucking on one of my nipples as his hand cups my pussy. His fingertips find my clit, rubbing my sensitive nub until I’m nearly driven mad with desire.
“I want you, Joel.”
I climb into his lap, settling over him. His eyes never leave mine as I sink onto his cock, slowly, inch by inch, until I’m settled into his lap and there’s nothing between us but warm skin and lake air and the weight of everything we haven’t said yet.
I move over him, setting the pace, loving the feel of him deep inside me and the feel of my nipples brushing against his muscled chest. He kisses me deeply, sucking on my tongue as I ride him.
He whispers my name once, low and wrecked, and that’s what does it—not the pressure or the rhythm or the heat of his skin against mine, but the way he says my name. Like I matter. Like this matters. Like I’m not just passing through.
When I fall apart, he does too, and he holds me through every second of it, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath as unsteady as my own as we wait for our bodies to stop shaking.
