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“Finally,”Weston whispers in my ear.
The lights in Owen’s apartment are low, so low I’m not even sure where he and Enzo are. They’re close by, no doubt, watching intently.
Which is so fucking hot. I’m not an exhibitionist, at least I wasn’t before these guys. Guess it’s never too late to learn new tricks. Or however that saying goes.
So, in spite of the low light in the room, I can see Weston’s smiling at me, and cripes if it’s not like the heavens parting and God himself telling me everything’s going to be fine, actually, more than fine. Pretty fucking amazing, when it comes down to it. I know nothing’s a done deal, but I have afeeling, as Jewel would say.
“Finally what?” I ask him.
He tilts his head a little and studies me with a serious look. “You’re finally in my arms. I’ve waited a long time for this.”
I drop my head back and laugh. “You’ve waited a long time? How long is a long time?”
I’m not going to bother telling him how long I’ve waited forhim—or Enzo or Owen. But I’m pretty sure it’s my entire life.
“A day is too long to wait for you.”
Oh my god. I had no idea Weston was such a cornball. But I keep my mouth shut. It’s not every day a man like him is relishing his time with little old me, and it would be really asshole-ish to mock him for his purple prose.
I’ll giggle later.
His mouth lands on mine, his lips soft but not too soft, unapologetic enough to say who’s boss.
Or at least that he thinks he’s boss.
I begin unbuttoning his starched button-down, the stiff fabric barely pliable under my fingers. But I get enough of it open to get my hands on his hard chest, and gently rake my nails through a sprinkling of chest hair. He’s warm, actually more like hot, and when I brush his nipples, I swear his breath hitches the tiniest amount.
Have I found his kryptonite? Time will tell.
After the shit of the last couple weeks, it’s almost a guilty pleasure to be in his arms like this, like an indulgence I don’t deserve.
Fuck that.
“I like you, Livvy,” he says.
He hooks an arm around my waist and sweeps me to the arm of the sofa, which he props me against, and begins to open my jeans. I watch his long fingers hard at work, eager to touch my bare flesh.
“I like you too, Weston,” I sigh.
I want him to touch me. Everywhere. I pull my blouse off over my head and reach behind myself for my bra clasp. I’m not waiting for him to take care of business. I’m not in a patient mood.
After he slides my jeans and panties down to the floor, he takes a step back and looks me up and down, like a combination hungry wolf and ardent admirer.
I’m not complaining.
His hands palm my breasts, lifting them to his mouth for kisses, kneading them, and pulling my nipples until I gasp.
“You like that,” he murmurs.
I run my hands up his muscular arms, over his shoulders, and down his back. He’s beautiful, solid, and strong, his touch confident and firm. If you told me a couple days ago I’d be here with Weston, with Enzo and Owen in the background, watching, I would have laughed in your face.
And gone home to eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.
Weston’s hands roam my body but it’s the space between my legs that’s responding the deepest, no surprise. But he hasn’t touched me there. Yet.
With my ass half-propped on the sofa arm, Weston kneels before me, spreading my legs as wide as they will go, and runs two fingers between my swollen pussy lips. Soaked, he pushes them into my mouth, my eyes falling closed as I savor my excitement, swirling my tongue and wanting more.
The tension in my sex is coiled tightly, like a rubber band about to break, and when Weston swipes his tongue from my ass to my clit in a long sweep, a shudder hits me so hard I have to grab the sofa back for balance.
