I lean in close until we’re millimeters apart. “I’ll do the tongue thingwheneveryou’d like.”
Her pupils blow. “Even in the bushes?”
“Uh, what?”
“Never mind,” she mutters, gripping the front of my shirt and pulling me into a kiss.
The motions are slow, unhurried, exploratory, as if she’s mapping the slopes and curves of my lips the same way I’m memorizing every breathy moan and sigh she releases.
All I want to do is learn about her.
That’s my concern. My fear is this will be the final push, the last thing that’s stopping me from fully falling for her. I don’t know that I can separate the emotions I have from the physical element of sex. Not with her.
She presses a soft kiss to my jawbone.
My cock twitches beneath my zipper, the pressure glorious and also not enough.
“You can touch me now.” There’s a teasing lilt in her voice as she places my hands on her hips. “It’s so much morefunif you touch me.”
Her hand covers mine, lifting it from her hip and dragging it along her bone until I’m at the apex of her thighs. The elastic of her pajama bottoms shifts as she slides our hands lower, brushing along her clit. “Slow circles,” she demands, releasing a breathy moan when I do as instructed.
My body is on fire, heat and pleasure melting my veins as she pants. I’ve never felt anything like this before, the sharp, achingneed. She exposes the column of her neck, head tipped back, and I kiss a path along the skin, down to her collarbone.
Hooking my arms around her legs, I flip our positions, dropping her on the bed. Sofía lifts the soft fabric of her pajamas over her head, tossing it on the floor. Her shorts follow, and she lies bare before me, a blush spreading down her chest the longer I stare.
My throat dries as I track the rise and fall of her breaths. An ache forms at the center of my chest. None of this was a good idea. The sex. The fake dating for publicity. Spending so much time with her.
It won’t be cut and dry when it’s over for me—not the way it will be for her.
I’m not practical in the way she can be, but I know I’m not strong enough to stop this, either. I’d rather have these moments with her than nothing at all.
“You’re stunning.” I have the thought so often that sometimes it slips out.
“Thank you,” she replies, but it’s not genuine. It’s a robotic response, like she expects the compliment but doesn’t always believe the statement.
“No, Sofía. You’re…” I pause, searching for the right word, but I can’t find only one. “Do you remember the sunset we watched from the beach in Airlie?” She nods. “You’re like that. And the small purple flowers on the path leading to the beach. So many different versions of beautiful, not even a painter could capture it all.”
Her lips part, and pride balloons in my chest. I stunned her to silence. I love when I manage to pull it off.
Trailing a hand along her inner thigh, I drop to my knees, pressing my lips to her skin. Her muscles twitch as I settle in and fulfill my half of our little trade. The gasp she releases when I finally kiss her clit is music to my ears, and I chase every breathysound she offers while I swirl my tongue around her clit, slowly enough it’s teasing but nothing more.
“Oh, fuck,” she mutters, gripping the strands of my hair as I suck and nip and lap, giving her what she needs to teeter on the edge.
I pause, kissing up the inside of her thigh, then across her stomach, and she releases a grumbled “Jett,” with her hands trying to pull my head back down to where she wants me. She tugs, and I relent, giving herexactlywhat she wants, splaying her open and feasting on her as if she’s my last meal.
Her breathing turns labored, and she abandons my hair to clench the sheets, her thighs threatening to crush me. It would be a magnificent way to go.
“Fuck, you’re good at this,” she moans.
“So generous with the praise,” I say against her skin. “I’ve earned it now, huh?”
Her breath hitches when I slide a finger inside her. “Mm-hmm.”
I’ve barely had a taste of her, and it’s not enough. Whatever happens in Australia will never be enough. A few weeks won’t do. I want a lifetime of this.
“Condom,” she demands. “My bag.”
I release her, snatching her purse and digging for the seashell pouch.
