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“Please,” I begged.
His body tensed and then he applied more pressure, kissing me harder, more urgently. Like this moment in time might evaporate out from under us.
My fingers wound into his hair, holding him to me. My body arched against his. I couldn’t get close enough. I wanted to sink inside him, lost forever in the depths of his heart.
His hands brushed down my sides, exploring ever so slowly and carefully, like I was something to be treasured.
“I want this to be perfect for you,” he whispered into my neck before raining kisses along my collarbone.
I took his face in my hands and my chest brushed his with each harsh intake of breath.
“It will be perfect because I’m with you. That’s what matters. The rest is just technicalities.”
His green eyes searched mine and his Adam’s apple bobbed.
“Are you sure?”
Was he crazy?
I nodded, reaching up to run my fingers over the harsh stubble on his cheek. “Yes.”
He nodded once too and then his lips were on mine again.
He took his time, rubbing his hands up and down my sides and kissing me thoroughly. He wasn’t going to rush this. I was the one that dove headfirst into everything, barreling through straight to the finish. Not Dean. Every single brush of his fingers and caress of his lips was carefully thought out.
When his fingers finally glided under my shirt I shivered from the feel of his fingertips on my bare skin.
As he lifted the shirt he kissed every inch of skin he exposed.
When my shirt was off I grabbed his face, my movements frantic, and kissed him hard.
His tongue brushed against mine and I nearly cried in relief.
My brain had turned to mush and I was reduced to mere syllables.
“Please.”
“Touch me.”
“Dean, Dean, Dean.”
And the most important of all, “I love you.”
I ran my fingers over his st
omach and up over the coarse hairs on his chest.
“Off,” I begged, pulling at his shirt.
He obliged, rolling his hips against mine in the process and I whimpered.
He lowered and his chest pressed against mine. I wanted to rip my bra off so I could I appreciate the feel of him against me fully, but I knew he’d get mad at me for rushing and torture me by going even slower. As it was I felt as if I might combust from the slightest strike of a match.
He rubbed his thumb over my bottom lip, his eyes dark with lust.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he confessed into the darkness, his lips stroking against mine with each word, “I never thought it would happen, didn’t dare to let myself believe it would be a possibility.”
I inhaled a breath. “And now it’s real.”
