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Thank God he can’t see my heart flailing around like I’ve swallowed a hundred happy pills. How is it possible to feel cherished and desperate at once? I nod. “Deal.”
“So tell me, Kendall. What do you want?”
My mind whirls with the possibilities. I may not know what it’s like to have sex, but I know what need feels like, and I’m feeling a whole new level of it right now. I throb between my thighs. My nipples ache from the light caress of the breeze. “I want you. I want everything. And I want it now.”
He lets out an unsteady breath I find strangely reassuring. This conversation is taking a toll on him, too. “That leaves things wide open. Tell me to stop if I do anything you don’t like.”
“I don’t like that you’re stalling,” I tease. I’m ready for action. Lots of it. I push the momentary thought of his experience with countless girls out of my head. Right now, I’m the one who gets to reap the rewards of his skills.
“You call it stalling; I call it seduction.” He kisses my shoulder, and my panties grow wetter.
His lips are warm and soft, the contact firm, as he presses kiss after kiss along my shoulder, but his mouth slowly turns hotter and hungrier as he progresses. It’s the only part of his body on me, and it’s electrifying.
He drops kisses across my upper back to my other shoulder, then slowly tracks down my spine, his lips parting and openmouthed devotion raining down my flesh. I quiver. My breathing speeds up. His tongue flicks out, but it’s not exactly a lick, more like a promise. A promise of what’s to come, and I immediately think about him tasting me, sucking on my clit. Laving me until I can’t hold anything back.
I squeeze my thighs together, because I’m not quite wanton enough to spread my legs in invitation when I’m exposed like I am. The memory of Vaughn’s fingers inside me, my dress bunched around my waist, panties pushed to the side, is a heady one, and I clench my thighs again to offset the pleasure the reminder stokes inside me.
I’m close to coming, and we’ve just gotten started. How wasteful would that be?
His mouth lands on the tiny bow of my panties, his teeth tug the lace that runs along the cleft of my ass. I wiggle as his tongue plucks it like a guitar string. The scrap of material covering my new wax job rubs against my folds. My legs shake.
“You like that?”
“I…” I can’t answer because he does it again, tugging infinitesimally harder, and I can’t stop myself from bending forward to give him better access.
“Yes or no,” he prompts. His breath flutters over my skin and even though it’s warm tonight, I feel goose bumps rise.
“Y-yes. I like it…” Then he licks down my ass crack, and I stop breathing.
My hands slide off the railing and reach for him—to stop him or pull him closer, I don’t know.
Vaughn takes hold of my waist and spins me around. He’s on his knees, his jeans undone, his shirt gone. For a moment, all I can do is drink in his tan, toned male beauty. It’s not hard to see why his chiseled pecs, speed-bump abs, and twin ridges of muscle cutting in at his hips grace a big billboard, but reality is even more overwhelming, not to mention a little intimidating. Then I spy a thin strip of woven leather encircling his wrist. The birthday present I gave him. Seeing my gift on him reminds me this isn’t some perfect stranger. This is the man who thanked me for confiscating his car keys, and slow danced with me in a crowded club, and listened—held me close and really listened—while I told him my deepest secrets. This is Vaughn, and just like that my hesitation evaporates. I want to see more. I want to hook my fingers into the loose waist of his jeans and drag them down. I want him naked. I want to see. Touch. Taste.
Our eyes connect. I lick my lips and prepare to speak, but he beats me to the punch.
“I’ve had your scent in my head for days.” He leans in, his lips hovering close to my lacy panties, and inhales deeply. “Like a craving. I can’t wait to put my mouth here again.”
Yes. Yes!
“But we’re taking it slow, so first…”
He kisses up my side, licks my belly button, skims his lips all the way to the bottom swell of my breasts. Without thought, I run my fingers through his hair. He groans and rises to his full
height before tilting his head and crushing his mouth to mine.
My body turns liquid as he delves between my lips and subdues my tongue. I wrap my arms around his neck, press our bodies together.
As fast as he claimed my mouth, he abandons it, leaving my tongue tingling and my lips burning for more. I’m about to protest when he palms my boobs and rubs his thumbs over my nipples. The peaks tighten even more under his attention. Without looking up he says, “Jesus, Kendall. You’re stunning.” He traces the line where my tan transitions to the paler skin always covered by my bikini top. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever touched.”
Although the words sound impossibly sincere, my mind rushes to rebut them. Even if I didn’t know he’d touched truly flawless girls—models and pop stars and actresses, oh my—he’s definitely touched himself. But then our gazes lock, and the look on his face threatens to overwhelm me. I haven’t recovered when he bends his head and takes my nipple into his mouth.
I gasp as he works me with his lips and tongue while gently, and then not so gently, pinching my other nipple. The double assault is pleasure so sharp it’s nearly pain. I arch my back, seeking more, but he pauses.
“Too hard? Too soft? Tell me how you like it.”
“Not sure yet.” I manage a quick breath. “Better try again.”
His smile flashes for an instant before his mouth and hand switch places. I bite my lip to stop myself from actual begging. He tastes every inch of my torso—at least it feels like he does—before his mouth lands on the inside of my thigh. His fingers hook the strings at my hips, and he inches them down while he drops wet kisses so close to my sex I can barely keep still.
