He laughs and––much more eloquently––rips my shirt off before dropping it next to our feet. With his help, his shirt joins mine, and I grin as I take in his mussed-up hair before tugging him back to me so that I can taste him again. The kiss is hard. And messy. And mixed with a depth that I’ve never felt before.
Grabbing onto his shoulders, I jump and hook my ankles around his hips, then dive right back into his mouth. His kiss makes me feel like I’m baring my soul to him. Exposing all my flaws. My wants. My needs.
It’s just a kiss, I remind myself.
Then why do I feel like I need it more than my next breath?
I almost whimper when his tongue dances with mine. He tastes like whiskey and dark chocolate. The combination makes my head spin as his fingers dig into my ass, pulling me closer.
Then he squats down, and I squeal, clinging onto him like a little monkey.
“What are you doing?” I whisper-shout even though I’m fairly certain we’re the only people in the house.
“Grab our shirts,” he orders against my lips.
Keeping one hand planted against his shoulder for balance, I squeeze my thighs, arch my back, and reach for the clothes scattered along the floor. River leans forward and presses a quick kiss between my breasts as if he can’t help himself.
And I love it.
His need. His desperation. A small blossom of hope swells inside of me. That maybe we can figure this out. Maybe he really is willing to do complicated.
But where will that take us? I still have an older brother who would never approve of this moment.
It’s just one night.
I shake myself back to the present then grab our shirts from the floor. With the fabric dangling from my fingertips, I do a half sit-up and wrap my arms around his neck.
“Got ‘em,” I whisper. Then I kiss him again, rubbing myself against his bare abs like a cat in heat.
Desperate much, Reese?
I can’t get close enough.
River takes the stairs two at a time. His bruising grip beneath my butt only spurs me on until I’m a squirming mess in his arms. Licking. Biting. Sucking. Every inch of skin I can get my mouth on.
Again, that dark laugh greets my ears as he pauses in the doorway. “Your room or mine?”
“Mine,” I answer.
He twists the handle then tosses me onto the bed like I weigh nothing more than a feather. And I love that too. That he looks at me like I’m more than a damaged damsel in need of saving. That I can handle whatever he throws at me. That I’m not made of glass. And I love that even more. That I can feel delicate yet invincible whenever he’s around.
He snakes his arms around my back and makes short work of my black lacy bra. When his large hands practically engulf my small breasts, my nipples pebble at the contact of his calloused palms.
Ian used to hate how small my breasts were. Always gave me shit for it, even though it’s not like the size of my boobs is exactly within my control. But River’s eyes are brimming with lust, and it’s enough to dissipate the last of my insecurities.
I feel sexy.
Desirable.
Wanted.
Throwing my head back, I whimper and squeeze my eyes shut as he massages my aching breasts. How can he make something so simple feel so freaking good? I feel like every nerve in my body is humming with anticipation and longing. To be closer. To feel him inside of me. To be filled, both physically and emotionally, in a way that only he’s capable of.
It’s just one night.
Then his warm mouth replaces his left hand before he goes to work on the button of my jeans.
“Shit, Riv,” I breathe, my voice nothing but a whisper. Fingers tangling with his hair, I hold him against me and curse under my breath like a damn sailor.
“You like that?” he teases, his whiskey-laced breath dancing along my sensitive skin.
Duh.
I don’t bother to answer him as I slip my hand between us and squeeze his hard length through his jeans in hopes of giving him a taste of his own medicine.
The groan that vibrates through his chest is like music to my ears.
“You like that?” I return with a coy smile before I let him go, then follow his lead and unbutton his pants.
Chuckling, he grabs the waistband of my jeans and tugs them off with one swift pull, leaving me in nothing but a pair of cotton red and white polka-dot boyshorts. Not exactly what I’d wear if I knew someone else was going to see them, but there’s no use worrying about that now.
“Smartass,” River murmurs, distracting me from my poor fashion choice. Cupping my cheeks with his rough hands, he cages me against the bed and kisses me again. It’s probably in an attempt to keep me from replying with another snarky comment, but I’m not about to complain. Instead, I let our tongues duel it out, savoring every brush. Every flick. And every teasing taste that has me seconds away from begging him to put me out of my misery.
Because this? This is torture.
And I couldn’t think of a better way to go.
Slowly, River makes his way to my neck and peppers a few more open-mouthed kisses along the column of my throat just like he did outside of SeaBird. Then he moves to my breasts again, lavishing each of them for a few seconds before continuing south. The cool air against my damp skin shocks my system, magnifying every single movement River makes.
His fingers dance along my inner thighs, turning my muscles into a puddle of need under his expert touch as he runs his nose along my entrance and breathes deep.
My hips buck off the mattress.
Shit.
I gasp and fist the cotton sheets in my hands, searching for an ounce of control against this man’s ministrations, but it’s useless.
He freaking owns me.
His eyes connect with mine as he pulls off my underwear to reveal the most intimate part of me. A part that only one person has ever touched, let alone come face-to-face with. I’m not scared. I’m terrified. But some of the best things are on the other side of fear. And I’m sure as hell not going to turn back now.
This might be a terrible idea, but I can’t blame this moment on alcohol. I’m as sober as a nun. And if River keeps looking at me like that, I think I just found my new religion.
“Riv––”
“Sh…”
With a cocky grin, he dives right in, lapping at my folds as his fingers rim my entrance before slowly slipping inside of me.
My jaw drops, and my hands squeeze the sheets until my knuckles turn white. Ian didn’t do this. Not after the first few times we were intimate, anyway. Sure, blow jobs were great, grand, and wonderful, but returning the favor wasn’t exactly part of his repertoire. Honestly, I didn’t think I was missing much. Obviously, I was wrong about that one.
“Shit, Riv,” I breathe out.
I can feel his smile against me, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, my curse only spurs him on, and it doesn’t take long for a scream to slip past my lips.
It’s official. The guy has a magic mouth. One that is currently torturing me in a way that I’ve never experienced in my entire life. As my heels dig into his shoulders for leverage, my back arches off the mattress, and I shamelessly press myself against him, desperate for the final push that’ll bring me to oblivion.
“Right”––I gasp––”there.”
My skin feels too tight. My breath feels too forced. As if I need to fall apart, but I don’t know how.