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The words tumbled out of his throat in an anxious rush. “Molly. Molly, I’m sorry. Don’t cry. I’m sorry for what I said.”
“No, Jules, I’m s-sorry, too. I—I overreacted, I—I’m s-so stupid. I should’ve known you anywhere. I should’ve known it was you.”
Julian might have been considered a daredevil among his sports friends, but seeing Molly cry just now tore up his insides.
He didn’t think about what he was doing, only followed his instincts and carried her to his bedroom. He sat on the edge of his bed and clutched her quaking body to the exact place where his heart spasmed like an open wound inside his chest.
“I’m sorry, Molly. I should’ve brought it up and at least apologized,” he said, smoothing his hands down her shivering back.
Her chest heaved as she sighed and stayed buried against his throat. “No, no, it was me. How could I not have known…not have realized?” She sniffled and glanced up, her eyes wide and blue and glazed with emotion. “At first I thought it was you, but then I felt his ring pressing against my arm. Why were you wearing it? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Baby, I thought you knew it was me that night. I thought you responded because it was me. I was going to leave you alone, Molly, but you called me back onto the terrace and I couldn’t stop myself.”
He had a similar sensation now as he marveled at the incredible feel of her in his arms, warm and shivering and vulnerable, like she’d been that night, ravenous for his mouth and his touches. He wanted to protect her, possess her, claim her, love her, make her never ever think again of anyone but him.
Cradling her face, he wiped her tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Why would you think it was Garrett, Molly? Don’t you see the way I look at you? The way I want you? Everyone around us has noticed but you. Do you believe I’d help another man, any man, get even a little piece of you, when I’ve been waiting all my life to claim you as mine?”
She looked into his face, and her eyes widened at his words, as though she’d only just realized that he wanted her. Her hands trembled as she cupped the back of his head, and then she kissed him. Softly. Whispering against his lips, “I love you. I’d die if I lost you, Jules. I’d rather lose my arms and never paint again than lose you.”
Her lips pressed lightly against his, the words, the touch sending a shock of awareness bolting through his system. He stiffened under her, his heart kicking full speed, pumping hard and loud as a jolt of arousal coursed through his bloodstream.
When she drew back, her eyes shone like beacons, and the blatant desire he saw in those blue, blue eyes could’ve toppled him to his knees.
He was having trouble getting a word out, his arms shaking as he palmed her face between his open hands. “Do you want me?” he finally rasped.
His lips tingled from her sweet kiss, and now his mouth burned with the hunger to plunder her lips. Ripe with innocence, wet and pink and waiting to unleash all her passion on him. He needed to make her his. Only his. He couldn’t bear another night, another second, another moment of his life without this.
He splayed his fingers across her scalp and gazed into her eyes in the shadows, so intoxicated with her nearness, he could only murmur in a thick whisper, “Do you want me, Molly? Do you want to be with me?” He slid his fingers down her back to palm the round curves of her buttocks, gently pulling her closer.
She nodded, struggling for air.
He gripped her hair within his fists and pinned her in place as he swept down. “I need to kiss you, touch you, make love to you.” He fitted his lips perfectly to hers. His tongue plowed, swift and fast, into the warmth of her open mouth, and the pleasure of connection was so intense, a riptide of sensations racked his entire body.
She felt familiar and at the same time exotic and intoxicating to him. She was marshmallows in fire, lollipops under the covers, the best memories of his youth…she was museums, Monaco, fine wine….
She was Molly.
His lovely, effervescent Molly.
And he’d loved her almost as long as he’d been alive.
His arms snaked out to guide her legs around his hips, and suddenly she was straddling him, almost weightless, but burning hot and moving in restless excitement against him, her hands gliding up the bare muscles of his torso, her mouth ravenous on his. “Jules,” she murmured. “Jules, I’m sorry for what I said.”
“Shh, I’m sorry, too. Let’s just forgive each other. You’re mine, Molly, and I can’t wait to be inside you.” He twirled his tongue around hers, her body eagerly rocking over his hardness. Agonizing pleasure ripped through him as her weight bounced seductively over his straining erection.
Things went from slow to urgent in a heartbeat.
He anxiously unbuttoned her shirt, and when she started doing it herself, his hands slid up to caress her face. Panting fast and hard, he stroked her reddened bottom lip with alternating thumbs, her lovely jaw cradled within his cupped palms. He’d never seen so much desire in a woman’s eyes. So much emotion. Her lips were so luscious, plump and damp and so unbelievably swollen from his kiss.
Desire pumped, hot and heady, through his bloodstream as he laid her down on the bed and pushed off his drawstring pants, licking her calves, her knees, touching her, looking at her—he couldn’t get enough, do it quick enough, couldn’t see her naked fast enough.
He wanted to part her slim, white thighs and taste her honey. He wanted to make her gasp and moan and thrash against him as he introduced her to the greatest pleasures in the world. He was cooking inside of his body and he hadn’t even started to do everything he wanted to. He had never thought he could want a woman like this.
He wanted to revere her. Adore her.
Molly was just as desperate, her fingers somehow cramping on the last buttons of her shirt. “I can’t get this thing off. Please get it off, get it off, Jules!”
He cursed under his breath and lunged forward. He was being ripped in two from so much desire, so much rapture. He could barely speak from the euphoria, his fingers working as fast as they could through the tremors already shaking him.
