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Tugging my top off, he says, “You won’t be needing this.”
“In heaven?”
He clicks his tongue and winks, and then runs a finger down my chest between my breasts. “You’re too goddamn beautiful. You know that, Bell?”
“No, keep telling me,” I say, lifting to plant a kiss on his head.
His eyes dart to mine, and he stares in all seriousness. “You’re so beautiful that it was hard to look at you over the past whatever number of years and realize that I’d never have the privilege of telling you how I feel.”
My heart thumps against his hand that flattened to my chest, my secret of how he makes me feel felt between us. I caress his cheek and give a gentle smile. “You say the most romantic things. If you’re not careful, I might believe them.”
He smiles and kisses me on the lips. “I hope you do one day.”
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I hold him close. “Don’t go falling in love, Counselor. It never ends well, remember?”
“I’m sorry I ever gave you that impression.”
“What impression is that?”
“That true love doesn’t exist.”
Still embracing as much as I can in my arms, I whisper, “It does?”
He lowers his gaze and kisses my chest again. I’m not sure if he’s avoiding the question or distracted by other things, namely me naked underneath him. So, I say, “It’s okay. We’ll just file that under other things we’ll never mention again.”
“For now, it’s probably best, Miss Bell.”
I’m not going to spend time overanalyzing what just went wrong when I’m not willing to take that step and say those words either. Instead, a craving I have for him has become an ache in my core.
“As you please, Mr. Wellington.”
The cockiest smirk of all time lands on his face. Leaning down, he kisses the top mounds of my breasts, leaving me squirming and panting for more. “The death of me,” he mutters under his breath just before he begins sheathing himself.
“Don’t tease,” I say, watching him. Purposely teasing him, I run the tips of my fingers down my neck and over one breast, then the other.
“There won’t be any more teasing. I plan to follow through when I make love to you.” He positions his body over mine, and I can’t resist feeling his solid muscles. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down to me, kissing him hard with intention one last time before we cross that final line.
Make love, where my heart, body, and soul are invested in him. This is something I want to share with Rad.
With a slight shift in our bodies, he pushes in. My eyes close, and my head dips back, my back arching and my breath shortening as we become one. The stretch and burn that I’ve come to know with him flicker to life inside as the heat we create has me shedding the sheet from our bodies. I move against him, wanting more—harder, faster—and more of him. All of him.
There’s pleasure found in the scrape of his five o’clock shadow against my chin. I’ve come to yearn for the rawness I feel after kissing him, the burn a reminder of how hot his mouth is against mine. God, this man doesn’t just do things to me. He does everything to me—makes my heart beat heavy in my chest, causes goose bumps to cover my skin, and has me believing that we’re more than friends with benefits, trusting his words and the way he makes me feel inside and out.
Beautiful.
Respected.
Sexy.
His body takes mine as I take his, meeting him thrust for thrust, pulse for racing pulse, trading my harsh breathing for his, and begging for more. He chants, “I’ve wanted you for so long . . . so long, baby.” Baby falls from his lips in lust, from a deep desire he can’t control, just between us. Even though he says he’s wanted me since we met, it still feels surreal to be with him now.
“Rad . . .” His name is my mantra that plays on repeat.
“God, you feel so good.”
It’s too much—his deep voice, the rhythm we find pushing us to our limits, toward that cliff, the feel of him everywhere—in, out, and all around me, taking me body and soul. Kissing my neck, he dips his hand to rub just the right place above our connection. “So good.”
Our bodies are still bonded when his eyes lock on mine, his biceps carved of stone when he rises above me, my own personal Michelangelo staring back at me. A growl vibrates through him, spurring him to pump harder.
He kisses my cheek and works his way to my ear, whispering, “I won’t . . .” His brows pinch when the words appear too heavy a burden to share.
As I run my nails along his jawline, my own feelings bloom inside. I ask, “You won’t what, Rad?”
