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I’m choosing this. I want him.
As Desmond lets out a shuddering breath and lifts his dark gaze all along the length of my body, I keep my hands on his shoulders and then slide them to his neck, stroking my thumbs along his jaw. His stubble rasps against my fingertips, already long enough to need a shave.
Des’s hands are on the backs of my thighs, warm and strong. He slides them up to the globes of my ass, kneading gently, sending fresh heat spilling through my core. Black eyes meet mine, a desperate question hanging in them.
I only have to lean back a couple of inches before my butt hits the side of the washing machine. Des watches me, hungry, not taking his hands off my body. I widen my stance, then, leaning on the washing machine to keep my balance, I lift my leg and slowly hook it over his shoulder. The fabric of his wet tee is cold against my calf, but the body beneath is warm. I already feel like I’m burning up.
This is more brazen than I’ve ever been. It’s me asking for what I want.
Des’s breaths grow faster. His grip on my behind tightens, spreading my cheeks. Then he runs his nose and mouth along my inner thigh until he gets to the wet seams of my core. There’s something intensely erotic about seeing this big, strong man coming undone at the sight of me. He closes his eyes, his whole body trembling as he inhales deeply, as if he’s addicted to the scent of me.
I didn’t know it was possible to be this wanted. I grip the edge of the washing machine as Des uses the flat of his tongue to take one long lick from my core.
We both moan.
His hands move to my thighs, thumbs near my entrance, spreading me wider. He probes his tongue into me, groaning, then moves to the little bundle of nerves where I need him most. My hand flies to the top of his head, tangling into his wet locks.
“Grind on my tongue,” he says. “Be as rough as you want, Mia.”
I twist my fingers into his hair and buck my hips. His lips and tongue work magic between my legs, soon joined by a finger sliding inside me. This man knows what he’s doing. He curls his finger just so, then adds another. All the while, his tongue laps at my clitoris while my hips grind.
Pleasure twists and curls inside me, spreading through my stomach and thighs. I start to tremble, whimpering. Des uses his fingers to plunge inside me, teasing, stretching. The noises he makes stoke the fire of my lust, every grunt and moan winding me tighter. I like that he makes those sounds for me—because of me.
“You taste so good, Mia,” he says, kissing my inner thigh while his fingers work inside me. “Better than I imagined. I don’t ever want to stop.”
“So don’t,” I whine.
A dark chuckle, and Des returns his mouth to where I need it most. I feel the edge approaching, that tall cliff that I’ll hurtle over in a blaze of ecstasy. My hands twist in Des’s hair, my knee falling out to rest in the crook of his elbow. I’m spread wide for him, and I love it.
I’m sick of fighting this attraction. Even though it might burn me in the end, I care about this man. I want him to feel loved and happy and cared for—the same way he makes me feel when he does a thousand little and big things to make my life easier. Ever since he arrived in Heart’s Cove, I’ve tried pushing him away, and all it’s done is hurt us both.
I don’t know what will happen after this weekend is over, but I know that being here, with him…it feels right.
And when Des’s fingers slide out of me to reach farther behind, teasing the rim of my rear, my control slips even more. While his tongue flicks over my clit, he sinks one knuckle into my hole—
I fly over the edge with a cry. Gritting my teeth to muffle the noise, I writhe and whimper while he holds me against the washing machine, delivering the most intense orgasm I’ve ever felt in my life. When I’m afraid I’ll collapse, I find myself wrapped up in his arms, pulled tight against Des’s body like he’s the only support I’ll ever need.
He kisses me then, and it feels like coming home. I taste myself on his tongue, loving the way his stubble rasps against my lips and chin, adoring how desperately he seems to need my kiss. It matches how I feel about him.
When the coolness of his wet clothes finally gets to me, I shiver. I’m promptly scooped up in his arms and carried to the shower.
Still wearing all his clothes, Des flicks on the water and checks the temperature, then sets me down inside. He strips off his top and shucks his wet pants, erection dangling heavily between his muscular thighs, and joins me inside.
I can hardly stand on my own. I find myself gripping the tiled wall with one hand, my back leaning against his chest for balance. Skin to skin, we stand under the hot spray while I come back to myself. I tilt my head to the water and take a shuddering breath, Des’s arms around me like solid supports, his cock hard against the small of my back.
Body wash squirts out of the bottle into his palm, and I find myself thinking I could fall in love with this man. Maybe I already have. All the times I’ve convinced myself he’s an arrogant jerk, maybe I’ve been trying to deny what’s been happening in my own heart. I lean my head against his shoulder and let out a sigh, happy to be limp and sated against him.
He lathers up the body wash between his hands and starts running it over my body. Between the adrenaline of the race, the shock of cold in the pond, and the intensity of my orgasm, my body is completely overwhelmed. But slowly, with smooth strokes of his calloused palms, Des brings me back to life.
Suds spread over my breasts as he washes them, cupping and kneading as his head dips toward my neck. I moan as he kisses below my ear, his hands tweaking the hard tips of my breasts at the same time.
“You have such a beautiful body, Mia,” he says softly, his hands coasting down to my stomach.
Normally, I’d feel self-conscious if someone touched me there. I have stretch marks, a bit of loose skin below my navel, and I’m softer than I used to be. But the reverence with which Des touches my stomach, my sides, and my hips convinces me that he’s telling the truth.
Then his palms sweep to my inner thighs and move up, cupping between my legs. I buck, my behind hitting his upper thighs.
“I’m sensitive,” I complain, panting.
