Does he feel the same way? Is he experiencing the same swirling, confusing, delicious emotions within him? My entire body feels strung tight, like a wire being stretched at both ends. As if I might snap at any moment if he so much as touches me on the arm.
I was always so reluctant with Jonah. Yeah, we did a few things, but nothing major. I wanted to take it slow. I was scared.
I came up with every excuse possible.
With Beck, I’m not scared. He makes me feel safe, even when we’re doing something risky, like walking too close to a cliff. Or letting him feel me up in the back of his car. It’s like I don’t care what happens, as long as I’m with him.
It’s scary, but in a good way.
We’re silent as we package everything back up as best we can. We use one bag for trash and the other for the things we’re keeping. We work well together, which is no surprise.
It feels like we do everything well together.
“Want to sit in the front?” he suggests, when we’re done cleaning and everything is stashed in its place. He then hands me a full water bottle. “We can listen to music. Talk.”
“Sure.” I keep my tone light and casual, but I’m hoping for more than us talking.
From the nervous smile he flashes at me, I think he’s feeling the same way.
After he closes the back hatch, we head for the front of the vehicle, a shiver stealing through me when a cool breeze blows. It’s colder up here, just as he said, and I take a deep breath of crisp mountain air before I climb into the passenger seat and close the door.
Beck climbs in at the same time, our doors slamming simultaneously. He rubs his hands together and blows on them. “That sun drops and it’s cold out there.”
“It is,” I agree, wrapping my arms around myself.
He reaches out and rests the back of his hand on my cheek, making me yelp. He grins. “Cold, right?”
I reach for him, resting my cold hand on his warm, smooth neck. “Cold, right?” I repeat to him with a smile.
He doesn’t even react, save for the way his lids lower over his eyes from what I can only assume is me placing my hand on him. “I like it when you touch me,” he says, his voice like velvet, rubbing over what must be every nerve ending I have. “You don’t do it enough.”
“You want me to touch you more?” I scoot a little closer, my hand sliding up and around to his nape, his silky hair trapped between my fingers.
“I want you to touch me all the time,” he admits, just before he leans over the center console and presses his mouth to mine.
It’s a simple kiss at first, but I can tell he’s using restraint. His big body practically vibrates as his mouth moves over mine, sweet kisses that last longer.
And longer.
Until his hand is in my hair, so he can hold my head still, his tongue delving into my mouth over and over, sliding against mine. We’re straining toward each other over the center console, our bodies not even touching, his fingers growing tighter in my hair as we continue to kiss.
I break away first, needing to catch my breath. Calm my thoughts. I’m breathing hard, my heart is racing and we stare at each other in the darkness, the only light coming from the moon hanging above us in the sky.
“You said you wanted to talk,” I whisper, pressing my tingling lips together, discreetly licking them.
I can still taste him, and it just makes me want him more.
“I lied,” he says, his expression deadly serious. “If you’d rather talk…we can talk.”
“No.” I shake my head, smiling faintly. “This is good too.”
“Is it?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
We stare at each other, the only sounds our ragged breathing. And we’ve just barely started tonight. Imagine what might happen when we’re thirty minutes in.
Sixty minutes in.
Hopefully I don’t pass out from total euphoria.
“What time is it?” I ask, and he grabs his phone from where it sits in the cup holder in the center console.
“Almost nine thirty.”
“I have two hours.”
His brows draw together and he sets the phone back, lifting his gaze to mine. “What do you mean?”
“My curfew. It’s in two hours.” I don’t bother telling him it’s normally midnight on the weekends. I don’t need to go into detail about that stupid conversation I had with my mother earlier.
It’s the last thing I want to think about right now.
“We can do a lot in two hours.” He grins, and he’s so adorable.
Adorably hot.
“What are we, thirty minutes from my house?” When he nods, I continue, “Then we have ninety minutes.”
“We can do a lot in ninety minutes too.” He glances down at the center console with a scowl. “Hate that thing. Gets in the way.”
“Yeah, it does.” I glance toward the back.
So does he.
“We could go back there. Or—” He reaches toward the left side of his chair and hits a button, slowly easing the seat back. “We could stay right here.”
My entire body flushes at the thought of climbing on top of Beck. Of straddling him.
“O-okay.”
Oh God, I’m nervous. But I’ve got this.
I can handle it.
I can.
Once the seat is as far back as it can go, Beck encourages me to crawl over the center console with a crook of his finger. He even helps pull me over. I fall onto him in a heap, laughing nervously as I readjust myself, his hands guiding me, situating my body, so I’m sitting on top of him.
Sitting.
On.
Top.
Of.
Him.
I rest my hands on his broad shoulders, realizing quickly that with the position I’m in, I’m looking down on him. He tilts his head back, his eyes practically smoldering as he studies my face, his lips curled into a mysterious smile.
“What?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything. Do I look dumb? Is my hair a mess? Do I have something on my face or my shirt? I glance down at myself, my hair falling forward and he slips his hand in between us, his fingers just beneath my chin as he tips my head up, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“I never thought I’d get the chance to have Addison Douglas on my lap. In my car,” he admits, his deep voice soft and smooth. Even a little vulnerable. “It’s like my every dream come true.”
“Beck. Come on,” I tease, though I’m partly serious. I’m his every dream come true? He has to be exaggerating. “You can have any girl you could ever want.”
“I didn’t want any other girl.” His thumb drifts over my chin, making me shiver. “I only ever wanted you.”
A soft gasp leaves me at his confession and we stare at each other, lost in one another’s eyes. I press my lips together, trying to come up with a response, wanting to say something like he’s made my every dream come true with that confession, but nothing comes out.
Instead, I lean down and kiss him, melding our mouths together, breathing him in. His hand seems to hover near my waist, not quite touching me, but right there, and I bend my head down closer, shifting my entire body, so he can see that I want his hands on me.
I want his hands all over me.
Our kiss turns hungry in an instant, and we devour each other. I strain toward him, my body wanting to feel his, and he removes his fingers from beneath my chin, his hands finally settling on my waist, pulling me in. Until I’m pressed against him, my breasts pushing into his hard chest.