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“Exhale.”
I do.
He shifts his hips, bringing our bodies together.
His cock brushes my sex.
Then it’s one inch at a time.
My eyelids press together.
My fingers dig into the sheets.
My legs squeeze his back.
“Breathe, angel.”
I can do that.
Inhale.
Exhale.
It’s so much.
Too much.
And not enough.
He brings his lips to mine.
Kisses me softly.
Then harder.
It’s weird, tasting myself on his lips.
But good weird.
He shifts deeper.
Deeper.
Fuck.
I have to break our kiss to groan.
He studies my reaction like I’m a painting he’s trying to recreate. “Too much?”
“No. Just…” I take a deep breath. “A lot.”
“You need a break?”
“God no.”
His lips curl into a smile.
“What?”
He stares down at me with all the affection in the world. “Just thinking.”
“Yeah?”
“I really fucking like you, Quinn.” He presses his lips to mine.
It’s all there.
In his kiss.
It’s more than like.
Or maybe I’m already confusing love and sex.
But, fuck, I more than like him too.
Slowly, Wes shifts deeper.
Deeper.
Until he can’t go any deeper.
Then he pulls back and does it again.
It’s a lot.
Almost too much.
I have to tug at his hair to hold on. I have to pull back. I have to remind myself to breathe.
But I do.
He drives into me with those slow, steady strokes.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Bit by bit, the discomfort fades.
I’m still stretched and full.
But it’s good.
Really fucking good.
I stare up into his eyes.
He stares back at me.
For a moment, it’s crystal clear.
I understand everything.
Where I should be.
What I should do.
What the hell should become of us.
Then he drives into me and my body takes over.
I rock my hips to meet him.
He brings his hand to my ass. Guides my body over his as he drives into me.
A few more thrusts and he’s there.
His brow furrows. His eyes close. His nails dig into my skin.
He groans my name as he comes.
His cock pulses as he spills inside me.
It pulls me right to the edge.
When he’s finished, he untangles our bodies.
Then he pulls me into his chest, slips his hand between my legs, and pushes me over the edge.
I come two more times.
Then I dissolve in his arms.
Chapter Forty-Six
Quinn
“Oh my God.” Hot air hits my face as I step through the doorway. The casino’s freezing AC dissipates.
My goose bumps disappear.
My skin burns.
My hair sticks to my neck.
It’s way too hot.
No one should live in a place this hot.
We’re standing in the shade—under a wide awning—and it’s still way too hot.
The hotel pool is every bit as lush as an actual desert oasis. Crystal blue water. Palm trees. Waterfalls dripping off fake rocks.
Wes’s arm slides around my waist. He pulls me closer. It’s too much with this temperature. The warmth of his body is threatening to overheat me.
But I don’t ask him to stop.
I don’t want him to stop.
This trip has been perfect. The drive, our afternoon activities, dinner with friends, gambling, that ridiculous show, and finally…
Finally having sex.
Hell, I even enjoyed watching Mission Impossible after.
I mean, it was terrible.
But with the overpriced room service wine and Wes’s arms around me—
Even a bad movie is bliss under those circumstances.
I’m rested, fed, caffeinated, and ready to relax in the pool all freaking day. (Well, until I drag him back to the hotel room to have my way with him).
“Are we really meeting our friends here?” My sandals sink into the carpet as I walk the path to the pool. Fifty feet under the awning. Then concrete and bright, unadulterated sun.
“Yeah.” Wes’s fingers curl into my side. It’s sweet, gentle, possessive.
Hot as hell.
Which I can’t handle.
I’m already melting.
And I’m already crazy about him.
I think I know where I stand, but, for once, I’m giving myself time to be sure.
We have all day together.
I’m enjoying the hell out of it.
“Is that really the best use of our time?” I hold my hand over my eyes, but it does little to block out the sun. It’s so bright.
This heat is unlike any summer day I’ve experienced.
Somehow, the air is both dry and saturated with warmth. It’s not like a sticky New York summer or a breezy Santa Monica afternoon.
It’s the kind of weather that makes Death Valley sound like a quaint name.
I find an empty chair, lay my towel down, do away with my glasses.
Wes gives me a long once-over as I pull my cover-up over my head and fold it neatly on my chair.
He watches as I bend to unfasten my sandals.
His attention makes me shudder.
But the concrete against my feet—
Fuck that.
“Pool. Now.” I move toward the oasis as quickly as I can. It’s tough—the patio and the pool are both crowded—but I still hurry.
Finally, I get to the beautiful water.
My body sings as I dip one foot into the water. Then the other.
I don’t ease in. I rush down the steps. Let the water cover my legs, hips, stomach, chest, shoulders.
There.
I dunk my head.
Fuck, that feels good. Crisp. Cool. Refreshing as hell.
And there’s Wes, standing on the steps, smiling like he just won the lottery.
