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“That was never the plan.” He shakes his head. “Love the game, and it loves you back, right? Play until I can’t and then come back and ask the girl to marry me. Plan got a little twisted, but in the best possible way. And you know what I did today, Whit?” I force myself to swallow as he walks around behind me, rests his hands on my hips, and whispers in my ear, “Asked the girl to marry me.”
Trying to keep this light, I joke, “She say yes?”
His chest vibrates against my back in a silent chuckle that acts as a match being tossed at a tinderbox that is my entire body.
“She did.” His voice drops an octave, but it’s just as smooth as ever. “I’m marrying the only girl I ever would, and there’s a good chance I’m gonna make a fool of myself.”
“How’s that?” I ask, nipples straining against the bra under the dress he bought me.
“When I kiss her for the very first time, in front of people we both love, I’m not sure what’s gonna happen, but I’d like to know I’m not going to pass out, pop wood, or make a mess of my pants.”
I bite my bottom lip to stop from laughing.
“Are you gonna laugh at me or let me kiss you so I know what to be prepared for?”
“I think a kiss would be accept?—”
“Hands on the glass, Whitley Mae.”
The fact that I don’t hesitate to do what he told me to do at a breakneck speed should be embarrassing, but with his arm across my center, pulling me against him, I feel he’s just as affected by this as I am. His large, strong, callous hand is at the base of my neck, gently positioning me as his hot, wet lips touch my skin, stealing my breath as I’m pinned between the window and Pope’s major league body. His mouth moves from my jaw down my neck, where he sucks and nips at my collarbone. My body takes over, and I arch into him, a wordless petition demanding more.
He turns me now so I am facing him, completely breathless, panting. My eyes devour his body as he reaches behind his neck and pulls his T-shirt over his head. My knees clench as I take in his chest, the mountains and valleys of muscle lining his abdomen, the ink running from his biceps to his wrist. He has and always will be a work of art.
In the blink of an eye, he grips the back of my head and pulls me into a hard, hot and demanding kiss that causes me to whimper into his mouth and him into mine.
Both of us needing a breath, he pulls back, breaking our kiss. Resting his forehead against mine, he twists his lips in a sneer.
“I knew—I fucking knew—that the taste of you would be my undoing. I’ll never be able to get enough of you, Whitley Mae Belington. I’ll feel starved, like I’m going to die, until our lips touch again. Your taste is my new obsession. I’m going to make damn sure you feel, the same about me.”
I open my mouth to tell him he’s already done that when his lips crash into me again. His hands are on my waist as he turns me back toward the window. Palms flat against the glass I hold myself up as his teeth lightly graze the back of my neck. I feel the heat between my thighs intensify, and my nipples are so hard that they ache. I have never been so turned on in my entire life—never.
I feel the zipper on the back of the dress begin to descend, and my body tenses.
“I asked for a kiss. Now, I’m begging for you to let me continue worshipping your beautiful body with my mouth and my tongue. I promise, until you and I exchange vows, I will not be fucking you, no matter how much I know you want me or beg for my cock.”
White satin pools at my feet, and my body is covered with goose bumps as his lips sear my neck, my shoulders, and my upper back. His thumbs hook into the band of my underwear, and he begins pushing them down.
“Can’t get enough of you, Whit. Never going to stop wanting to taste you,” he murmurs, his lips pressed against my ear. His tongue skates down my spine as he pushes my panties lower and lower. His lips and tongue cross my body from hip to hip right before his teeth nip one of my ass cheeks and then the next. He growls against my skin, “Fuck, you smell good. You want me to touch you, don’t you?”
I don’t know why I can’t just say the word yes. Perhaps because my heart is stuck in my throat, but I do arch against his touch, against his mouth on my ass.
“Hell yes, you do, just as badly as I need to touch you.” His finger traces my soaked seam as his hot tongue runs down the back of my thigh. “Step out of your panties, Whit.”
“Say please,” I manage, and his deep, dark rumble comes from behind.
“Please,” he groans.
I step out of them, and my breathing becomes labored as his touch against my aching center becomes more intense. His lips move back up my body, kissing, nipping, and sucking over my ass, my hips, my spine, my shoulder, and now against the sensitive spot behind my ear.
Finger still stroking me, his own labored breath at the shell of my ear, his hardness against me, he whispers, “More.”
Again, I arch against him, and this time, he nips my earlobe, eliciting a whimper from deep inside of me.
His finger sinks between my folds, parting my soaked lips, and begins running the length of me. My thighs start to tense, my body trembles, and he wraps his other hand around my waist to hold me steady.
“Give me those beautiful fucking lips,” he hisses.
I turn my head, glancing over my shoulder. My eyes meet his, which are no longer sparkling blue eyes; they’re nearly black as they focus on my lips.
