My body comes to life when Alex kisses me. She bites my lower lip and slides her tongue against mine. It’s desperate and frantic, and it drives me absolutely crazy.
Forget all other kisses. This is the one I want to live in for the rest of my life.
I feel dizzy, like I’m drunk on something much stronger than alcohol. I’m not even aware of conscious thought other than how good she’s making me feel. I don’t even realize I’ve unbuttoned her shirt until I’m pushing it off her shoulders and reaching for her pants.
She pulls away and covers my hands with hers. Her eyes are wild, and her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath. She’s losing control, too. I can tell by the way she looks at me. “Jules,” she says and licks her lips. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
Her words are like a blast of cold water, but I know what she means. If we don’t stopnow, then we’re going to cross a line we won’t be able to come back from. The problem is, I’m already well over that line. Will she cross it with me or leave me here alone? “Do you want to do this? With me?”
She leans in a little, and I press my lips to hers.
“What are you afraid of?”
She exhales but doesn’t pull away, keeping her mouth against mine. “I’m scared it’ll ruin our friendship.”
She stands perfectly still while I grab the waistband of her linenpants and slip my hand just below the waistline. “Nothing could ever ruin that.”
Her fingers dig into my hips. “Promise?”
I look her in the eyes. “I promise.”
The hesitation disappears. She kisses me, just as frantic as before, and unties the back of my dress, causing it to fall to the floor. The air from the air conditioner is cold against my damp skin and causes goose bumps.
Or maybe they appear from the way she trails her fingertips down my arms. All I know is, I need more.
I push her pants all the way down while her mouth drags across my jaw and down my neck. Her breath is warm as her lips move downward along my chest, then lower. She drops to her knees and presses wet kisses on my stomach and hooks her fingers through the sides of my thong and slowly slides it down my legs, her mouth still pressed against my skin.
Once she pulls it off, she leans back and dangles it from her pointer finger with a knowing smirk on her lips.
A smart-ass comment hovers on the edge of my tongue, but I can’t seem to voice it. Not when she’s looking up at me like that. Not when she squeezes my hip. And definitely not when I know how intimate this has suddenly become.
She stands and slowly removes my bra. I watch as she takes in my naked body, her gaze thirsty and focused on my chest. Her hands settle high on my waist, and she pushes her palms upward, cupping my breasts. I bite back a moan as she kneads them and again when her thumbs brush across my nipples.
“If Wyatt McCann could see these now,” she teases.
It makes me laugh. “Shut up.”
She smiles, and I lean in to kiss her, allowing her to guide us backward toward the bed, and I climb into her lap once she sits. Our kisses have slowed. They’re deeper, more intimate. And somehow even more intoxicating.
I realize instantly that I like this position. I like being able to hover above her and have her head tilt back when we kiss. I especially like the way I can slide my fingers through her hair while she runs her hands all over me.
We slowly pull apart, and she opens her eyes only to stare into mine. “You’re gorgeous, Jules.” I love how she says my name. Reverently and full of love. Her gaze drops to my chest. It isn’t until she takes the bow and arrow pendant between her fingers that I realize she’s staring at my necklace. Athernecklace.
“My good luck charm,” I tell her, and she looks at me as if seeing me for the first time. I think maybe I’m seeingherfor the first time, too.
When I unhook her bra and cup her breasts, I marvel with how perfectly they fit in my hands. Like they were made for that purpose alone. For me and only me. Her nipples are already hard, and she presses into my hands when I squeeze them. They’re so soft.
She groans, then kisses me hard. It riles me up, and all I can think is I wantmore. I press down, seeking some kind of friction but find nothing to grind against. The need for her to touch me is so strong, so overwhelming, that I thrust again and again and again.
“Please,” I plead. “Touch me.”
Her hand slips between our bodies, her fingers sliding against me. I would be embarrassed at how wet I am if I wasn’t so desperate. She places a lingering kiss on the side of my jaw, and I sigh, rocking into her hand. “You feel so good,” she murmurs. “You’re so beautiful.”
She circles my clit once, twice, three times, and I know it won’t take me long. I want to slow down, to make it last, to memorize her words and her touch, but it feels too good to do anything but urge her to keep going.
Her mouth moves to the side of my neck, and she gently bites, drawing out another moan. Her fingers brush lightly against my entrance, and I wrap my arms around her shoulders just as her other hand presses harder into my lower back, keeping me steady.
Waiting.
