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“I feel like I’m dreaming. None of this…feels real.”
I hold him tightly, aching at the raw pain in his voice. I stroke his nape. “I think you’re tired,” I whisper.
I kiss his hair. I don’t mean to, but here he is—his big, heavy, beautiful body cradled up against me, just the way I’ve wanted since I met him.
It’s such a small kiss, so fast and light, it takes me a long moment to realize that since I pressed my lips against him, I can feel him breathing faster.
“You should go home, Gwenna.”
“Why?” I whisper.
He lifts his head and frames my face with his hands, lifting my chin so we’re eye to eye—and I can see his heavy-lidded ones. “Because you’re right. I’m tired. And I don’t have a lot of self-control.”
SEVENTEEN
Gwenna
My body flares white hot as his words roll through my mind. It’s been so long since anyone— I think I haven’t heard him right.
Then his forehead presses against mine. His arms encircle me, warm hands stroking up and down along my sides. His dazed eyes cling to mine, and they are more transparent than I’ve ever seen them. I feel like I can read his whole soul in their smoky depths: want and need, shame, exhaustion.
He doesn’t love you, warns an inner voice.
But this feels so good, it feels so right, and I’m so hungry for him, I don’t care.
“You’re so fucking sweet and soft.” His voice is low, and as he speaks, his eyes drift almost shut. Then they peek back open, and I feel the soft burn of his mouth on my throat, so gentle I can’t tell if it’s his tongue or lips.
“It’s okay,” I rasp, grasping his hair.
“What do you want with me?”
“I want this…”
My want throbs between my legs, a tsunami building as I tilt my face toward his and our lips meet, the kissing slow and careful, hard and faster, frantic, until I’m shaking. Every time his tongue strokes mine, I feel a pulse of need spread through my core.
Barrett leans me back. I’m lying down. His heavy body comes between my legs, and he’s kissing my throat so hard it hurts. But good…
As I pant, the scent of his skin swims through my head; his beard scratches my tender skin; his sturdy weight bears down on me—and it’s perfection. A low groan vibrates against my skin as his mouth climbs up my throat and roves along my jaw.
Chills riot over me. I grip his neck, holding him to me. “’S good…”
His palm roves up my neck and cups my cheek. I feel his hot tongue drag over my jaw and try to press my legs together. Instead, my thighs just squeeze his hips, making them buck. I lift my own hips, seeking…
God. I moan. He lifts his mouth off me and breathes hard.
“Gwen…” His hand grips my shoulder. His eyes shout at mine, then squeeze shut. He shifts his hips and my gaze drags between our bodies.
I can see him bulging in his pants. Oh Lord, I have to touch him. Need to see his face and hear his sounds when my hand cups the swell of his erection.
His head rests on my shoulder, warm and heavy. I can feel his hot breath on my neck. His chest presses against my breasts with every inhalation. He moans, a rough, low sound, and I can feel his legs tense.
“Gwen…”
He cups my cheek and with his heavy-lidded eyes on mine, a lost look on his face, he lowers himself slowly down on me and shifts his hips so I can feel him hard and thick against my inner thigh.
He takes a deep, long breath and looks down at where he’s got his big bulge pressed against me. His gaze lifts back up to mine. “Is…this okay?” He drags himself along my leg and grinds against me even as he asks.
I press my leg against him, my core throbbing as he grunts and thrusts against my soft thigh.
