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“Gotta give credit where it’s due.” Smiling lips angled for mine.
And there was no way in hell I’d refuse the gift.
I had missed these lips.
In a breath, the kiss was deep and heavy with intent after too long apart, after too much waiting, our bodies flush and hungry. Five years was too long, and I realized with Presley in my arms that every path of my life brought me back to her. I’d always fought my feelings for her—I couldn’t let myself face what she meant to me, not knowing I’d lose her again. But over and over, we’d been placed in each other’s orbit, and every time, it was a matter of science. The physics of us was as simple and honest as force times speed.
There would be no taking it slow. We were a flurry of hands and heavy breaths, her hips lowering to meet mine with a long, luxurious grind. I grabbed her around the waist and laid her down, the frenzy never stopping as she unbuckled my pants and I hitched her skirt, ridding her of her panties. Not when her hand stroked me, not when mine tested the heat of her, finding her wanting. Not until my crown was within an inch of breaching her.
I broke the kiss in a haze, my nose brushing hers.
“Need … a condom.”
The smallest chuckle from her, a smile too bright, her eyes barely open. “If you think I didn’t lock my uterus down like Fort Knox, you’re crazy. I got an IUD the second I was cleared.”
I chuckled back at her, then into her mouth, and then there was no laughter, only a protracted, deliberate kiss. A shift of my hips. The feel of her warmth at the very tip of me, then around me, then overwhelming me.
Our lips parted, our bodies hung in the limbo of sensation as we felt every inch of each other. I held still, savoring that feeling, listening to her shallow breath, charting the lines of her face, the flush of her cheeks, her waiting lips.
And there would be no more waiting.
Time stretched, drawn out by the slow retreat and advance of my hips. I knew this body, knew every curve. I knew every bit of the space I filled, every peak that would bring her pleasure. I knew where to press, when to release, my knowledge rewarded with sighs and mewling. Too fast, we were too close, but there was no making this last, not this time. Not when I’d been starved for five long years and had her here, now, where I could devour her. There would be time for that.
But not now.
The flush spread from her chest and up her neck, the tendons taut, her face turned to press into pillows, her lips parting, parting wider. Her body tightening around me, her hips no longer rolling but still, back arched, offering her body. A hard thrust jolted her. Another, her nails scoring my back for purchase. A third and she whimpered, and with one more, she froze for a heartbeat and came like thunder.
All I wanted was to watch her, but my eyes had slammed shut. I could see nothing but bursts of light as I came right behind her to the pulse of her body drawing me deeper, deeper, so deep inside of her there was nothing else.
Maybe it was she who devoured me, not the other way around. But I didn’t care. Not tonight.
I kissed her the second I was able, a bruising kiss, a branding kiss. A kiss that left me imagining so many futures, so many more kisses. Fear tore through me like a meteor, but I let it pass without hanging onto it.
I wouldn’t let tomorrow stop me today.
Because today, she was mine in the most elemental of ways. There was nothing between us in this simple place. Only me and her.
And I’d take every minute I could.
While I could.
11
Separate Ways
SEBASTIAN
Presley stifled a yawn as she made her way around Abuelita’s in her pink Bettie’s uniform with a coffee pot, topping everyone off.
It was barely light out that morning, which was only one of many reasons I was surprised by the turnout of townspeople who’d gathered to figure out what to do in the matter of Goody’s, and by proxy, about Mitchell.
Bettie had brought pastries, and we’d provided buffet trays of eggs, bacon, chorizo, and enough tortillas and salsa to fuel an army. And as they all ate, I stood in front of them, the accidental leader of the movement.
Worried faces looked back at me. Those who had come were primarily the owners of the businesses that would be affected by Goody’s. If the gossip was to be believed, there were plenty of businesses that would back Mitchell up regardless of what it’d do to the rest of us. Like Bob Thatcher’s bowling alley and Sandra Flores’ salon, to name a few. But I could have guessed who’d never flip on Mitchell long before today, and it looked like I’d be right.
