My hips lifted against his before I could pretend otherwise.
Dex’s breath hitched.
Then his mouth came back to mine, and the next kiss wasn’t patient. It took. It pushed. It gave me exactly enough pressure to fight back against. I shoved at his shirt, and he let me pull it up. He broke the kiss only long enough to drag it over his head and drop it beside the bed.
The motel light caught the tattoos over his shoulders and chest, shadows over muscle and ink. He wasn’t polished. He was work-built, road-built, with a small scar near his ribs and dark hair trailing below his navel into his jeans. The crucifix still hung around his neck, the leather cord stark against bare skin.
I put my palm over the cross.
Dex froze.
Not away. Still.
I looked up at him. “Should I not?”
His throat moved. “You can.”
I closed my fingers around the worn silver and tugged him down.
He came.
His mouth found mine again, and I kissed him with the cross trapped between our bodies, cool metal warming fast where it pressed against my skin. His hand slid under my back, and suddenly my tank was up, my bra was dragged down, and his mouth was on my tits.
I forgot how to breathe.
Dex’s tongue moved over one nipple, slow once, then harder when I made a sound I couldn’t dress up as strategy. His hand closed over my other breast. He wasn’t gentle now, not exactly. He was careful in a way that made the roughness worse. He kept checking me without asking too many questions. Every pause gave me room to stop him. Every touch made stopping him feel like the stupidest possible use of freedom.
I dug my fingers into his hair and pulled.
He groaned against my skin.
The sound went straight between my legs.
“Dex,” I whispered.
He lifted his head. “Say that again.”
My name was still locked behind my teeth. His was allowed out, and he knew exactly what it did to him.
I smiled because letting him see too much wasn’t on the schedule. “Bossy.”
“You like it.”
“I like your mouth better when it’s busy.”
His eyes flashed.
Then Dex moved down my body.
He shoved the sheet aside, and the room’s cold air hit my bare thighs. His hand went to the button of my cutoffs, but he stopped there and looked up at me.
My heart beat so hard I felt it under my tongue.
“Yes,” I said.
He opened the button.
The zipper followed, tooth by tooth, too loud in the motel dark. I lifted my hips, and he pulled my shorts down my legs. My panties came with them, wet against my skin before he dragged them away.
