Page 84 of Relationship Goals

A second ticks by. Another.

It doesn’t matter that we had sex this morning. In fact, I think it’s made how much I want him even worse, like his touch is the cure to everything that’s ever ailed me.

“What do you want, Abigail?” he finally asks, and there’s no humor left in his face, burnt out by the intensity of the same desire I feel blazing through me.

My gaze darts between his blue eyes, and I weigh the question.

Impulsivity wins the day, though, and I stand up on my tiptoes, wrapping my hands around his neck.

A groan slips out of him at the contact, his eyes half closing as I trail my fingernails down the nape of his neck.

“Everything,” I finally say. “I want you.”

“Fuck” is all he says before his mouth slants against mine, his hands immediately going to my hips, to the scrap of fabric covering my ass. “I want that, too. You can stop me anytime, okay? I meant what I said about moving slow, and what you deserve this morning. Sex is not the only reason—”

“If you don’t shut up and kiss me…,” I tell him, practically frantic with need.

He huffs a laugh, his warm breath ghosting across my mouth before his lips make contact again.

It’s like the wheels come off my inhibitions entirely as soon as his mouth meets mine. He squeezes my butt, gentle and firm. A moan escapes my mouth in response, and he takes advantage of the opening, his tongue sliding against mine possessively, deliciously.

I hook a leg around his thigh, pressing my body into his, losing track of everything but how good he’s making me feel already, of how much I want more.

He breaks off the kiss, and I whimper, only for him to nibble at the lobe of my ear. His hands run up and down my bare back, tripping over the small bow where the flimsy material of the bikini top ties together.

“Tell me if you need to stop or slow down.”

“If you don’t go faster, I’m going to scream,” I tell him, and I mean it.

“Oh, you’re going to scream all right,” he murmurs. “I already know what you like, Abigail.”

I shiver, tugging at the hem of his shirt, wanting to feel all that lean muscle under my hands, wanting so bad to touch him that I think I might explode with the ferocity of my need.

“Please.” My voice is a low whine.

“If you think I’m not going to take my time with you, Abigail Hunt, if you think for a minute I’m not going to enjoy watching you beg for me to make you come this time around—”

I take my hand and wrap it around his cock, an absolutely evil smile on my face. “Who’s doing the begging? Should I put on your favorite classical get-down in the bedroom playlist?”

“Fuck, Abigail,” he groans, and I grind my hips on the thick length of him, shameless and absolutely beyond caring.

“That’s the idea,” I say with a laugh.

When he bows his head, clamping his mouth around the small triangle covering my breast, the laugh dies in my throat, and I moan instead.

“Want you so fucking bad,” he mutters, then pulls aside the fabric on my chest, ravishing the tips of my nipples with his tongue.

My fingers rake across his back, all that delicious muscle mine, all mine. I am positively greedy with lust.

“You wet for me yet?” No sooner is the question out of his mouth than his fingers are trailing carefully, sensuously, down my abdomen, teasing the top of my bikini bottom.

Waiting. For me to tell him to slow down or speed up—in spite of his rough words, he’s all sweetness and patience.

“Maaaybe,” I say slowly, grinning like a fiend. I feel like someone just offered me a candy store and let me have free run of the place. Or an adult playground. Or both.

“Am I allowed to find out?” he asks, arching one of those thick eyebrows.

I shimmy my bare breasts at him, my brain making the decision for me that if he’s going to have me, he’s going to have the real me. Not the fake sex goddess some of the other men I was with wanted, but the real Abigail, silly and over the top.