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“Riley. I’m close. I’m there. Do it already.”
The cabin’s windows are open. The air is cool now, thanks to the rain. But we still sweat, our skin sticking as the athleticism of our movements grows.
Her cheeks and chest are bright pink.
I nip at her neck before I take her other nipple in my mouth. At the same moment I press my thumb to her clit, hard. Her eyes squeeze shut.
“Riley!”
Her pussy pulses around my length. Her nails dig into my sides as her hips and legs jerk. She wants to bring her knees together, help abate the intensity of her orgasm, but I keep her spread wide by thrusting harder. Harder. Her tits bouncing. The need for release pounding through me.
She pulses around me again and again. Milking me.
“Fuck, honey.” I’m hanging on by a thread.
“Go,” she whimpers.
Don’t have to tell me twice.
Sensation, sharp and terrifying, rises up to meet me. The orgasm hits, and hits, knocking the wind out of me. I come in hot, hard pulses.
My control slips. I lean in for a kiss—something to soothe the roar inside me—and Lu shocks me by kissing me back.
For half a heartbeat I’m stunned into stillness. But then Lu’s soft mouth moves over mine.
A plea.
A promise?
Whatever the case, I kiss her back. Hard. I open the seam of her lips with my tongue and take long, thirsty pulls of her mouth.
The familiarity of her taste drives me fucking wild.
She moans into the kiss, her chin tipping up to keep pace with me.
I’m out of breath. Sweating bullets. But I keep kissing her anyway. We move in sync, her head tipping to the right when mine goes left. She sucks on my bottom lip—damn, I like that—and I brush my nose against hers, receiving another moan of gratitude.
I don’t know what this is. But it sure as hell don’t feel like hate.
fourteen
Louise
Butterflies
I am not a rule breaker.
Except, apparently, when Riley Dixon is in the room. Then I’m a fucking rebel.
I suck a breath through my nose as his mouth plunders mine. I smell salt—the sweat on our skin, the air coming off the ocean—and coconut, thanks to the candle that flickers beside the bed.
He lit a goddamn candle.
He was a good kisser ten years ago. He’s an even better kisser now. Creative. Unafraid. Patient.
I need to stop kissing him. Immediately.
Instead, I lick into his mouth and run a hand up his back, reveling in the smooth glide of the muscles there, the way they bunch beneath his skin. He’s huge, and despite him holding up most of his weight on his forearms, I’m still breathless from the press of his body into mine.
From the way he uses his hips to pin me down on the mattress.
I’m worried the world’s chipping away at who you really are.
I want to keep the girl I fell in love with alive.
How did Riley pick up on all that in the, what, few hours we’ve spent together so far?
And why does his concern—his attention—turn me on so much? I can’t remember the last time I had sex like this.
I feel wrung out. Cleansed.
Better.
I feel so much better than I did a mere half an hour ago.
Which is a big fucking problem. Or is it? Can I trust Riley? Or am I an idiot to go down this path again?
He’s changed. Or maybe it’s my perception of him that’s changed.
Maybe he really has been the man I fell in love with all along. If what he’s saying is true—if he left because he loved me too much, not because he didn’t love me enough—that changes everything.
Everything.
So does the fact that he’s kissing me like the world’s about to end. I can’t help but melt into his touch. I want to fuck again. I want to feel this way all the time. Adored. Safe.
Seen.
How playful the sex was, how obscene—I loved it. I could let go in a way I haven’t in a long time.
That kind of freedom is delicious.
The rain hits the water outside the windows with a sigh. Drops onto the roof over our heads, an insistent drumbeat.
Riley bites the corner of my mouth before pulling away. I whimper at the loss of his heat. His touch. Which ordinarily would horrify me. I try very hard not to be needy, especially with men. But something about being with Riley unleashes a strong sense of fuck that in me.
So, fuck that.
“Don’t stop,” I plead.
Laughter rumbles in his chest. “I’ll kiss you all night if you’d let me, princess. But I don’t want you gettin’ a UTI. Let’s get cleaned up, all right?”
My heart twists. His concern is . . . overwhelming.
So is the way his accent gets thick when he gets naked.
I nod. “Okay. Yeah.”
“I’m gonna pull out.” He rests his forehead on mine. “Lemme know if it hurts.”
