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It wasn’t a crash. It wasn’t confident. It was a tentative brush, our contact whisper soft and quick. We parted, and his hand moved into my hair, gripping the strands and pulling me back to his mouth. The second kiss was stronger, heavy with need, my mouth opening beneath his, his tongue moving in as my hands found him. I hung on for balance, my nails digging into the shirt on his chest and bicep, needing more. We broke and rejoined, my eyes closing, our kiss deepening, my body coming alive, every spark firing, need flaring, my recklessness growing bolder with every confident swipe of his tongue.
In that moment, I didn’t want to protect Declan Moss. I wanted him to want me. To take my heart as his own. I wanted to feel, and be unafraid, and to trust in him to protect me.
31
Declan kicked at the screen door to the base camp, and it swung open, the familiar smells of burnt wood, citronella candles, and grass hitting his nose. He ignored it, his attention focused on the woman in his arms, their legs tangling as he maneuvered them toward the picnic table in the middle of the room. Their mouths fought over the kiss, the taste of her imprinting on his mind as he gripped her waist and lifted her onto the table, bringing her face almost level to his. Her knees parted and he moved in between them, pulling her ass to the edge of the table as he deepened their kiss.
She was addicting. Not just her mouth, or the way that her body fit perfectly in his hands and against his body. It was more her reactions. Her smiles. Her lovable comments. The concern she had—for him, for the non-existent skeets, for the random events in life that she thought she controlled. He pulled at the thin straps of her tank top, getting them halfway down her forearms and exposing her bra, tan and practical, the conservative choice as much of a turn-on as her lace one had been. It was a front closure, and he undid the clasp, weakened by the sight of her breasts, falling loose, her nipples red and pert. She groaned, and when he lowered his hands to her breasts, brushing his palms over her nipples, she shuddered into his touch. He tightened his grip, his thumbs moving reverently over the taut tips, and watched her response, the heavy lids of her eyes, the way her legs parted, hips thrusting forward. God, if only she was naked right now. He would take his time, tease her senseless, and coax a half dozen orgasms from those lips. Fuck her money. Fuck her worries. He knelt, dragging his fingers down her shirt and thumbed open the clasp of her shorts. No belt. Easy access. He glanced up, meeting her eyes, and held the contact as he brought himself to standing. “What do you want, Autumn?”
She panted softly, her breasts heavy and hanging, eyes wild, her hands reaching and making tight fists in the cotton of his shirt. “What do I want?” Her words wobbled on the question.
“I want to rip off these shorts, spread your knees, and bury myself in you. I want to take you on this table, and then over it, and then on that chair. I have a long list of the ways I want to enjoy every inch of your body, but I need to make sure, before I lose control, that that is what you want to do.” He tried to keep his voice level, but his dick heard every word, swelling to full attention as the ideas clogged his head.
Her eyes dropped to the crotch of his jeans, and she inhaled sharply. “What I want…” she mumbled.
He started to speak and she held up a hand and shushed him. “Let me think about this for a minute.”
His dick scowled, contemplating retreat, and flexed in protest against the seam of his jeans. His hands tightened on her breasts, lifting them to his mouth, and he gently kissed a line across the deep dip of her cleavage, waiting for her to decide. He trailed the kisses up over her collarbone and along her neck, gently nibbling on her cheek before he ended with a soft kiss on her lips.
“What do I want…” she repeated when he pulled away, her eyes half shut.
He carefully re-clasped her bra and pulled up her tank top, covering her beautiful cleavage and positioning the straps over her shoulders, leaning forward to kiss a freckle he spotted on her collarbone. “Let’s go open up my cabin.”
“Wait.” She grabbed his shirt, pulling to keep him in place. “I haven’t decided what I want.”
It didn’t matter. Uncertainty was a no in his book. He shook his head. “Maybe it’s better for us to take a step back.”
