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“Shut up.” Grinning, she moves to straddle my lap—then hesitates, smile fading. “I’m heavy. I don’t want to squash you. Maybe we should—”
Alba squeaks as I grip her hips, yanking her down. She lands in my lap, squishy and gorgeous and blushing.
I love that there’s weight to her. Sometimes in my life, when the constant nerves slicing up my insides get the better of me, I feel so goddamn insubstantial. Like a scrap of torn paper fluttering on the breeze.
Alba’s my paperweight. She keeps me present, keeps me rooted, keeps me calm.
“This,” I tell her, squeezing two perfect handfuls of ass, “is my dream. Don’t deny me, sugar.”
Besides, I’m plenty strong enough to lift her. I do it now, arranging her to my liking, showing off how easy it is for me to move her beautiful body. Proving that she can relax. Once she’s turned around and settled with her back to my chest, my chin resting on her shoulder, I brush one fingertip along her bikini top string.
Alba shivers.
“Hello again,” I say, addressing the hard nipples poking at the fabric below me. “I missed you both.”
She scoffs as I brush both thumbs over the hard beads—then stifles a whimper and grinds back.
Her bikini isalmostdry, and the faint dampness, the reminder of the plunge pool this morning, makes me harder than ever. I’m stiff against her lower back, my shaft brushing against one of the dimples at the base of her spine.
“You used to sit on my lap like this sometimes. Remember?”
Alba is breathless. “Not exactly like this.”
“But close enough.”
When she shakes her head, glossy dark hair tickles my cheek. “Dalton, we’llneverbe close enough.”
Amen to that.
Burying my face in the crook of her neck, I breathe in deep. She smells like cinnamon and sunscreen and the wet rock of the cave. Heart thumping, I nibble her shoulder.
“You like biting me there.”
Can’t deny it. “Want to bite youeverywhere. Here,” I brush her nipple again, grinning when she squeaks, “and here… and here… and here.” Her belly, her ribs, her thigh. “But I want to taste youheremost of all. I always have.”
Alba’s thighs part for me so readily, her breath stuttering as I slide her bikini to one side. My questing fingers find her slick and needy, her heat scorching my hand.
“Oh,” Alba says when my thumb brushes her clit. “Oh,” she says when my finger presses inside.
She’s quivering in my lap, gripping the arms of the chair until her fingertips go white. I lick her throat. “Should I keep going?”
“Yes,” Alba hisses. My heart is frenzied with triumph, banging around my rib cage. “Don’t you dare stop.”
It’s everything I dreamed to feel her squirm and sigh, her hips rocking against my hand. The soft, slick sounds of her body, and the broken noises she makes—it’s all music to my ears. Better than any chart-topping single.
Alba moans low in her throat when I lift two shiny fingers over her shoulder and suck them into my mouth. She’s tangy and salty-sweet. Delicious.
“You taste good,” I say, my voice rough, reaching back between her legs for more.
“Dalton,” she says, half laughing, half exasperated as I taste her again. “I’m not a freaking honeypot.”
“Sure you are.” Taking her hips, I guide her up and back onto my cock, sliding past her slick entrance. “You’re my sugar.” And it makes no sense, and I’m talking complete shit, but there’s no blood in my brain, okay? Everything has gone south.
All I know is I love this girl, and I want to say sweet things, and I want to sink all the way into her wet warmth until she feels my pulse throbbing inside her. Want to merge into one.
“Oh.” Alba moans as gravity pulls her down, down, onto my shaft, her body stretching to make room for me. “Oh my god.” She’s still clawing at the armchair.
I rub her back. “Doing okay? Go slow.” It’s taking every ounce of my self control not to grip her waist andthrust.This girl feels like sin, but I won’t hurt her. Never again.
