Page 58 of The Beat Match

She latched her legs around his waist, ground against him so thoroughly she almost came. He was insanely hard, a steel rod sliding over her, rubbing as he palmed her breasts through the shirt she’d borrowed. He kissed her mouth, nipped her lower lip, moved to her throat, her jaw, her ear—every erogenous zone in the Northern hemisphere.

She pawed at his T-shirt. “Off.”

He pushed up to his knees, grabbed his shirt by the back of his neck and yanked it over his head. Her body burned up. She’d seen him shirtless before, swimming in the Hamptons, but never like this, between her spread thighs, his erection tenting those linen pants. His breaths came fast and shallow. She touched his pecs, slid her thumbs over his nipples, delighting in his answering groan and the smattering of chest hair trailing downward. “You’re so hot.”

“I’m burning up because I’m about to strip you.”

“You better work fast.”

The V-neck she wore landed in a heap on the floor, her underwear flung next to it. He was back on his knees, looking down at her with such unmitigated desire she could only lie there and pant. “Wes?”

He paused. One word from her and he tipped his head to the side, searched her face. “Yeah?”

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“In a good way?”

“In the best way.”

His well-kissed lips quirked up. “If you could see what I see, you’d know it’s better than the best.” He leaned over her and delicately palmed her breast, held the weight of her, followed by a soft squeeze. His neck muscles strained as his eyes slid shut. “You’re as perfect as I imagined.”

“I’m not perfect.”

“You’re my kind of perfect.”

No man had ever told her she was his kind of perfect. No one had ever touched her like she was a work of art.

She reached for the button on his pants, needed to touch him, feel him slide into her so deeply there was no beginning or end to either of them. He moved out of reach, dipped down to take her nipple into his mouth. Tongue, teeth, a wet lick that had her bowing off the mattress. He moved purposefully, his fingers scraping her ribs, the swells of her hips, each grope and caress commanding but not strong enough. She wanted red marks like the one his mask had left on her cheek, a visual reminder of how good he felt, all that honed muscle sliding against her soft skin. “I need you, Wes. Inside me. Please.”

He didn’t relent, exploring every inch of her, moving lower then returning to her belly, back to her breasts, between her legs again, never touching her where she ached, only blowing a hot stream of air over her sensitive flesh, so surprising she gripped his hair and cried out. “Stop teasing.”

“This isn’t teasing. This is how it’ll always be with us. Pleasure so good it hurts.”

“Then make me hurt. Make me scream.”

He glanced up from between her legs, a devilish spark lighting his face. “Patience, Squirrel.”

His use of her nickname had tears burning her eyes. She bit the insides of her cheek, refused to let the tears fall. She’d missed that name. She’d missed him so much the past weeks. Months, really. It had been so long since things had been easy between them.

He licked her then, a long slide that had her bucking. She plunged her fingers into his thick hair, held him in place as his fingers and tongue worked her into oblivion, building her up then teasing her, controlling her body the way he controlled her heart. Her legs tensed, pleasure a hot grip that yanked her under as she screamed Wes’s name, eventually crumpling into a pile of boneless bliss.

He looked up at her, his lips shiny from what they’d done, ferocity in his eyes. “No one gets to see you like this but me.”

A statement. Wes, controlling as ever. Their new normal.

“Only you. Now get those pants off.”

He stood from the bed, flicked the button on his linen pants—so ridiculous—his eyes never leaving her. Her body was satiated, loose and pliable, but the second he dropped his pants, no briefs caging all that male perfection, her insides clenched. “You’re spectacular.”

He turned serious, stared hard into her eyes. “We’re spectacular.”

How was this even happening?

He turned toward his closet, the view of his toned behind and strong back mind-bending, but she said, “Stop.”

He spun around. “Are you okay?”

Again, one word from her, and he hit pause. So much care for her. He was consumed by her, or so he’d said. That made her next words all the more important. “Have you been tested recently?”