Page 83 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

“I told him that you’re gorgeous, and that you like my poetry.” He swallows harder than usual.

I’m pretty sure his flattery has sucked all the air out of the room. “I do like your poetry,” I manage. “You told your dad I’m gorgeous?”

He nods once, twice, three times. The air between us is thick, heavy with words we haven’t spoken. I no longer care if the lights ever come back on; there’s more than enough electricity zinging from his eyes to mine and back again to power an entire city.

I inhale shakily, then place my palm against his chest. His pupils are huge on mine in the candlelight. “Can I kiss you?” I echo his words from the night at the dance hall.

He smirks. “I knew you were still thinking about my tongue in your mouth.”

“Oh my God, enough already!” I laugh, then lean forward on tiptoe, wrapping my arms around his neck and dragging him into me. I crush my lips to his, and I’m lost. Lost in the warmth of his skin, his arms pulling me close, the way he’s kissing me back like he can’t get enough, either.

My fingers thread through his hair, run over his powerful shoulders, caress the sides of his face. He breathes my name, then drags his lips down my neck, paying homage to my collarbone.

God, he’s good. Everything he’s doing is sending lava coursing through my body, from my heart to my belly and lower. When he runs his hand over my chest and palms my breasts through my sweatshirt, I can’t help but moan into his lips.

He chuckles, then slips his mouth over mine again, brushing my hair over my forehead and rubbing my cheek with his thumb. He parts my lips with his tongue, and I wonder if he’s laughing inside at how badly he knows I want this.

I’m assuming the ideomotor effect is coming into play now, like we’re the planchette from a Ouija board, because Oliver and I have drifted from the middle of the room toward the bed. When the backs of his knees hit the side, I gently lean against him. He gives me a questioning glance.

“It’s okay,” I nod breathlessly.

“As long as you’re sure,” he says, lying back on the mattress and letting me crawl over him. I straddle his hips, leaning on my forearms and resuming my explorations of his face with my lips.

Oliver’s hands skirt up my sweatshirt, and the lava shoots directly between my thighs. I think I shiver a little, but there’s not a square inch of my body that isn’t burning hot.

He must notice the movement, because he stops his meandering immediately. “You okay?”

“Yeah. That just felt nice.”

He gives me a wicked grin.

“I regret that we bothered to put these on,” I joke, gesturing between our hoodies.

“Well, we needed them to prolong the illusion that we weren’t going to end up in your bed.”

Now it’s my turn to grin coyly. “Are you suggesting this was an inevitability?

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want it to be.” His fingers smooth my hair. “But I need to be sure you want this also.” Oliver’s gazing up at me earnestly. He looks so good on my bed in the flickering light, his damp hair flung every which way. He’s warm beneath me, all hard lines and pure masculinity. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone so much.

So I tell him exactly that, and his blush is apparent even in the darkness.

My hands skim under his shirt as if of their own accord. His chest is firm beneath my touch, and his muscles ripple in the most tantalizing way.

“May I?” I ask, gesturing to the hoodie. He nods, helping me ease it over his head. I toss it onto the foot of the bed. I don’t want it to fall on the floor, because I have no idea when this room was last vacuumed.

Leaning forward, I press my lips against his collarbone, his pecs, his abdominals. The curve of his pelvic bone; the edge of his waistband. My hands follow as if in hot pursuit, sending warmth and affection deep into his skin. I could spend all day doing this. Hell, I could spend an entire lifetime doing this.

“You didn’t tell me you were so good at this,” Oliver says in a low gravel, like he’s struggling to think straight.

“It’s a secret I share with only a select few,” I wink.

“I’m going to have to be extremely jealous of anyone else in said group,” he returns.

“Don’t worry.” I pepper his neck with kisses. “It’s very exclusive.”

“Oh yeah?” He grins.

“Yeah.” I smile back, warmth washing over me at how happy he looks; at how uncomplicated this feels. “Just you.”