And holy crap. Jillian is kissing me.
Braced with one hand, arm bent up on my elbow, my other hand slides across her body to her neck where my hand tangles in her hair at the back of her head.
Lifting my mouth from hers, I gaze into her eyes, lashes fluttering slowly, sleep haze fading from her blue eyes that become clear as a cloudless sky.
And before I can think, she kisses me again, pressing her mouth to mine with the confidence of a woman who knows what she wants and is taking it.
It’s so damn sexy. I not only immediately comply, I am all in, going with this new burst of pleasure she’s spiking down my spine.
“Jillian.”
“No words,” she whispers against my mouth. Her hands go to my shoulders and she tugs, pulling me toward her as she rolls to her back.
Oh, hell yes. Game on.
I want to sink my weight on top of her, roll my hips against her welcoming center and feel her hardened nipples against my chest.
Screw the dinner.
And her family.
All we need is this. Us.
She arches up, her back bowing off the bed while she seeks more kisses. It takes effort, so much effort my biceps are trembling from the cost of my restraint. Ever since that day on her couch, when I took my shot with her, letting her believe this was all a game to me, I’ve wanted this moment… or perhaps a moment very similar but with far less clothing.
As it is, my dick is hard, pushing against my briefs, trying to get free.
This should definitely stop.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on the angel or devil on my shoulder I’m currently in the mood to listen to—the devil, always—Jillian seems to have the same struggle as me because her fingers are curled around my shoulders, fighting against my pull to stay away and bring me closer.
And God. The sounds she’s making.
Needy.
Wanting.
My resolve crumbles like a dandelion and the softest breeze.
Dropping to one arm, I run my hand down the length of her side, playing with the satin fabric of her dress beneath her breast. Testing. Teasing.
She arches into me and mewls down my throat. I swallow her needy little whimper like candy to jerk off to later.
“Tell me to stop,” I murmur, pulling back just enough to see her closed eyes, lashes fanning against the top of her cheeks. She blinks once, hazy, glassy eyes with dilated pupils.
“Do you want me to?”
“You should.”
“I know. I just… I can’t find it in me to use the words.”
“Shit.” I drop my forehead to hers and groan, settling my weight close to her, and as soon as my erection finds the warm center of her legs both of us groan. She gasps, rubs against me.
“Jillian—”
“Don’t.”
Who am I to deny a woman’s request, especially when that woman is Jillian, the woman I’ve been in love with for far too long and only imagined having like this.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I revel in the feel of her soft, warm hand sliding from my shoulder to my neck and then my chin. She tugs me down until our lips are brushing against each other’s and then she pushes off the bed, her lips hitting mine.
Screw it. I’ll deal with the fallout of this later.
Without wasting time, I take her mouth, running my hand to her breast. A handful and perfect, her pebbled nipple is easy to find and when I brush my thumb over it, her hips jolt against me and her grip on my shoulder tightens.
I play with her, tease her, feel her, hating the fabric between us but not pushing to do anything to take it further, giving her time to stop this, but she doesn’t. My need to know what she feels like and how wet she is takes over. I bunch her dress in my hand, shoving it up until she’s bared from the waist down, hot pink silky underwear on display.
“You’re soaked,” I murmur. I can already feel her heat, but seeing the evidence of her arousal is gripping.
I’ve wanted this for so damn long.
“My dress,” she says, shifting, trying to find the buttons at her collarbone.
“Clothes on. Let me take care of you.”
“But—”
“No.” I allow her to see my seriousness. As much as I want to make love to her, to show her I care about her way more than a friend, that won’t happen now. Not until we’re in agreement. Not until I can think straight with the full use of my brain and not the blood coursing to my dick.
I’ll please her, but I won’t take advantage of her.
Leaning back, I push up the rest of her dress, run my hands up her thighs to the waistband of her panties. They’re so damn soft, and surprisingly, not a thong. But they’re sexy and I imagine if I were to flip her over, they’d cup her ass perfectly, giving me the perfect shot of her sexy backside.
“This is for you.” I keep my eyes on her as I peel them down her legs, running my hands in their wake and grinning at the goose bumps I leave behind. She shivers, biting that bottom lip of hers.
And when they’re gone, flung to the side, I slide my hands back up her thighs and bend down so I can kiss her legs, that soft spot at the back of her knee, up until I can smell her arousal, her desire for me. And it’s so damn heady, so damn incredible, it kills me to avoid it, to move back up her body until I’m kissing her again while my fingers find her clit.
“Oh God,” she moans.
Her hips buck against my hand and God… her desperation is such a huge turn-on I’m afraid of coming in my pants like I haven’t done since I was on the junior hockey team.
I gather her wetness that’s dripped from her, slide it around her clit, manipulating that bundle of nerves until she’s being driven wild, clasping my hair, my shoulders. She clings to every part of me she can while I taste her throat, trail my lips down her olive skin to the spot behind her ear.
“Damn it. Klaus—”
“Yeah.”
“I’m close.”
I can tell and I haven’t even been inside her yet. But now I need to. To feel her walls clamp around me even if it’s not the part of me I want feeling her.
“Patience,” I murmur, sucking on that skin again.
Her shampoo, flowers, and freshness invade my senses along with the smell of her sex. Her sounds drive me over the edge straight to wild and then I press one finger inside of her.
I earn another tortured groan from her, peel back enough to watch how the features on her face have tightened.
“You’re so fucking tight and wet.”
“It’s been a while,” she huffs, trying to make a joke.
I shut her up by adding another finger. I have no desire to joke about her sex life.
As soon as I’m inside, I begin fucking her with my fingers, pressing my thumb to her swollen clit. I watch her as she pants, as her breathing becomes ragged, memorize the feel of her legs trembling right as she opens her eyes, her mouth falls open and the most beautiful sound of a woman orgasming fills the room, my ears, my memory banks forever.
“Shit,” she pants, her body spasming beneath mine. I lean down and kiss her, take her mouth like I’m taking the rest of her while she rides the waves of her ecstasy until she’s spent, hands clinging to me.
She rips away her mouth, gasping, and kissing my cheek. “Is there anything you’re not good at?” she asks, and she sounds so upset by the idea I don’t have flaws—which I do, many of them—that I bury my head in the crook of her neck and laugh.