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The scent of dark golden amber and the woods after it rains fills my nose, and I try not to make it obvious when I inhale again.
His breath is warm against the sliver of skin between the hem of my tank top at the top of my skirt.
“Oh-okay.” I stumble over the word, shaking my head a little. It's those eyes and that low tone, like he spent the night sipping whiskey. It's meddling with my brain, turning me into the kind of woman who doesn't push a stranger away. The kind of woman who wonders how that deep voice would sound in my ear.
“I got you, baby girl,” he whispers. It's low enough that if I wasn't straining to hear him over the thunderous beat of my heart, I would've missed it.
I stand frozen for a second, my brain trying to process what just happened. Did he really just call mebaby girl? And why the hell does desire pool low in my belly instead of panic or disgust?
And all of a sudden, like one of those flash floods, a memory slams into me.
“Hold onto me,” he murmurs, his breath tickling the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. He settles my left leg over his right shoulder.
I thread my fingers through his hair, reveling in the softness of it. “What if I fall?”
Nerves roll around in my gut like I've got a belly full of snakes. I'm not scared, not really. But I am a little nervous. I've never done anything like this before—and I didn't think my first time would be in public.
Well, kind of. We're not that far away from the bonfire party at the end of the beach. Far enough that no one can see us, but close enough that I can still see the blazing orange flames.
“I got you, baby girl,” he murmurs, trailing his lips across my skin. One hand wraps around my thigh, anchoring it to his shoulder. And the other one palms my hip, steadying me. “Let me make you feel good, yeah?”
I swipe my tongue over my bottom lip, my pulse racing so fast, my skin feels sensitive. “What about you?”
He looks up at me, his dark lashes framing equally dark eyes. I decide he looks like some kind of fallen angel, except instead of wings, he has arms full of tattoos.
“Me?” He arches a brow, his lips curving into a sinful smile. “There's nothing I want more than to eat this pretty pussy all night. Every fucking night. So, be a good girl and hold on to me, yeah? “
I curl my fingers into his hair, and he sends me the most carnal grin I've ever seen. If sex was a smile, it'd be his.
I blink, the memory fading as quickly as it came. My entire body trembles, and I nod a few times. Definitely too many to be considered a normal response, but I can't help it.
I'm pretty sure I gave my virginity to the vice president of the Reapers on the beach eight years ago.
19
EVANGELINE
He wasthe first person to ever go down on me, and honestly, it was still the best I've ever had. I don't know if that's a testament to his skills, my inexperienced eighteen-year-old self. Or the string of really shitty boyfriends since then.
He was also the first person I slept with. And inpublic.
I guess he gota lotof my firsts.
But oh, holy fucking shit, I can't believe it's him.
Itishim, right?
Sweat beads along the back of my neck, and I resist the urge to drag my hand across it.
No. It's definitely him. I'd remember the shape of those lips—and the way they feel on my skin—anywhere. All those cliches are real: a girl never forgets her first.
My fingers tingle with the urge to snatch him up and kiss him, the memory of our night together riding me hard. But that would be crazy and awkward and—oh my god, why is helookingat me like that?
Eyes half-open, shadowed under a fringe of black lashes, lips parted, jaw flexed. It's the kind of expression a man wears before the last threads of his control snap and he kisses the daylights out of you.
It's the lookhewore before he ruined me just a little bit, just like he promised all those years ago.
There's a part of me—a big part—that's low-key freaking out. Like internal organs malfunctioning freaking out.
