Page 23
I don't usually do this—don't reach for connections, don't allow myself to be vulnerable. I haven't kissed anyone in years, not since a brief, failed relationship after I first returned to Cedar Falls. Intimacy requires trust, and trust has been in short supply in my life.
But Lucy Mitchell is different.
And now, in the starlit darkness of her cottage, with the rain softly tapping against the windows and her face illuminated by candlelight, I can't stop myself from closing the distance between us.
Our lips meet, and any thought of restraint evaporates. This is not the first kiss I might have planned if I had been thinking clearly. This is hunger, passionate and immediate. My hand slides from her cheek to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her soft hair as I pull her closer.
She responds with equal fervor, her lips parting beneath mine, her hands gripping my shoulders. She tastes like chamomile and honey, and something uniquely her—something I instantly crave more of. It's been so long since I've felt this—this rush of desire, this need to be closer, to feel skin against skin.
"Riley," she breathes when we break apart for air, her eyes wide under the candlelight.
I should slow down. Should ask if this is what she wants. Should remember that we've known each other for barely two days. But then she's pulling me back to her, and rational thought gives way to pure lust.
My hands roam her body now, feeling the curves I've been trying not to notice since I first saw her. She's soft and warm beneathmy palms, her body fitting against mine in a way that feels dangerously right.
Without breaking the kiss, I stand, lifting her with me. Her legs wrap around my waist, and my hands slide down to support her, gripping the generous curve of her ass. She gasps into my mouth, her arms tightening around my neck.
"The couch," she murmurs against my lips, and I carry her the few steps to the sofa, laying her down with more gentleness than I knew I possessed.
I hover above her, suddenly aware of my size, my weight, my strength compared to hers. The last thing I want is to overwhelm her or make her feel trapped. But Lucy pulls me down to her, clearly unconcerned, her kiss just as eager as before.
We stay like this for what could be minutes or hours, kissing deeply as our hands explore with increasing boldness. Her cardigan has been tossed away, and my blanket long forgotten on the floor. When my hand slips beneath her tank top to caress the warm skin of her stomach, she arches into my touch.
"Lucy," I say, my voice rough with need. "Can I undress you?"
She's breathing hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly, lips swollen from our kisses. She nods, eyes never leaving mine. "Yes," she whispers. "Please."
I move slowly, giving her time to change her mind. I slide down her body until I'm kneeling beside the couch, my hands at the waistband of her flannel pajama pants. She lifts her hips slightly to help as I ease them down her legs, revealing smooth skin and red underwear.
I press a kiss to her hip bone, then to the soft skin of her inner thigh, feeling her tremble beneath my lips. I trail kisses up herthigh, then across to the other, trying my best to avoid where I know she wants me most.
"Riley," she says again, but this time it's a plea.
I look up. She's propped up on her elbows, watching me, sweat trickling down her forehead, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, her tank top riding up to reveal the underside of her breasts. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
"Are you sure?" I ask, needing to hear it one more time.
"Yes! Yes! I am sure," she says, and the certainty in her voice dissolves my last hesitation.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her underwear, drawing them down slowly, revealing her wet pussy in all its splendor. She shivers, but not from cold—from anticipation, from the way I'm looking at her.
I press my lips to her inner thigh again, moving higher with each kiss. Her breathing quickens, and I feel her hand in my hair, gently urging me where she needs me.
When my mouth finally finds her clit, her gasp is the sweetest sound I've ever heard. I lose myself in her sweet taste, in the sounds she makes, and in the way her body responds to every stroke of my tongue. Her thighs tremble on either side of my head, her fingers ruffling my hair.
I look up from between her thighs to see Lucy biting her lower lip, her chest heaving with each breath, her throat working as she gulps dryly. The sight sends a surge of satisfaction through me—knowing I'm the one causing these reactions, that my mouth and tongue are bringing her pleasure.
Her taste is intoxicating, my beard already damp with her arousal. I haven't done this in years, but her responses guide me, telling me exactly what she likes without words. When I slidetwo slightly curved fingers inside her, her back arches off the couch.
"Oh god," she gasps, her hands fisting in the couch cushions.
I keep my rhythm steady, my fingers curling to find that spot inside her while my tongue continues its attention to her clit. Her thighs begin to tremble even more, and suddenly they clamp around my head, squeezing so tightly I have to use my free hand to gently push them apart before I'm crushed.
"Sorry," she mumbles, her face flushed with embarrassment and desire.
I lift my head just enough to respond, "Don't apologize. Nothing else matters except that you're enjoying this."
Her eyes, heavy-lidded with pleasure, meet mine.
But Lucy Mitchell is different.
And now, in the starlit darkness of her cottage, with the rain softly tapping against the windows and her face illuminated by candlelight, I can't stop myself from closing the distance between us.
Our lips meet, and any thought of restraint evaporates. This is not the first kiss I might have planned if I had been thinking clearly. This is hunger, passionate and immediate. My hand slides from her cheek to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her soft hair as I pull her closer.
She responds with equal fervor, her lips parting beneath mine, her hands gripping my shoulders. She tastes like chamomile and honey, and something uniquely her—something I instantly crave more of. It's been so long since I've felt this—this rush of desire, this need to be closer, to feel skin against skin.
"Riley," she breathes when we break apart for air, her eyes wide under the candlelight.
I should slow down. Should ask if this is what she wants. Should remember that we've known each other for barely two days. But then she's pulling me back to her, and rational thought gives way to pure lust.
My hands roam her body now, feeling the curves I've been trying not to notice since I first saw her. She's soft and warm beneathmy palms, her body fitting against mine in a way that feels dangerously right.
Without breaking the kiss, I stand, lifting her with me. Her legs wrap around my waist, and my hands slide down to support her, gripping the generous curve of her ass. She gasps into my mouth, her arms tightening around my neck.
"The couch," she murmurs against my lips, and I carry her the few steps to the sofa, laying her down with more gentleness than I knew I possessed.
I hover above her, suddenly aware of my size, my weight, my strength compared to hers. The last thing I want is to overwhelm her or make her feel trapped. But Lucy pulls me down to her, clearly unconcerned, her kiss just as eager as before.
We stay like this for what could be minutes or hours, kissing deeply as our hands explore with increasing boldness. Her cardigan has been tossed away, and my blanket long forgotten on the floor. When my hand slips beneath her tank top to caress the warm skin of her stomach, she arches into my touch.
"Lucy," I say, my voice rough with need. "Can I undress you?"
She's breathing hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly, lips swollen from our kisses. She nods, eyes never leaving mine. "Yes," she whispers. "Please."
I move slowly, giving her time to change her mind. I slide down her body until I'm kneeling beside the couch, my hands at the waistband of her flannel pajama pants. She lifts her hips slightly to help as I ease them down her legs, revealing smooth skin and red underwear.
I press a kiss to her hip bone, then to the soft skin of her inner thigh, feeling her tremble beneath my lips. I trail kisses up herthigh, then across to the other, trying my best to avoid where I know she wants me most.
"Riley," she says again, but this time it's a plea.
I look up. She's propped up on her elbows, watching me, sweat trickling down her forehead, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, her tank top riding up to reveal the underside of her breasts. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
"Are you sure?" I ask, needing to hear it one more time.
"Yes! Yes! I am sure," she says, and the certainty in her voice dissolves my last hesitation.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her underwear, drawing them down slowly, revealing her wet pussy in all its splendor. She shivers, but not from cold—from anticipation, from the way I'm looking at her.
I press my lips to her inner thigh again, moving higher with each kiss. Her breathing quickens, and I feel her hand in my hair, gently urging me where she needs me.
When my mouth finally finds her clit, her gasp is the sweetest sound I've ever heard. I lose myself in her sweet taste, in the sounds she makes, and in the way her body responds to every stroke of my tongue. Her thighs tremble on either side of my head, her fingers ruffling my hair.
I look up from between her thighs to see Lucy biting her lower lip, her chest heaving with each breath, her throat working as she gulps dryly. The sight sends a surge of satisfaction through me—knowing I'm the one causing these reactions, that my mouth and tongue are bringing her pleasure.
Her taste is intoxicating, my beard already damp with her arousal. I haven't done this in years, but her responses guide me, telling me exactly what she likes without words. When I slidetwo slightly curved fingers inside her, her back arches off the couch.
"Oh god," she gasps, her hands fisting in the couch cushions.
I keep my rhythm steady, my fingers curling to find that spot inside her while my tongue continues its attention to her clit. Her thighs begin to tremble even more, and suddenly they clamp around my head, squeezing so tightly I have to use my free hand to gently push them apart before I'm crushed.
"Sorry," she mumbles, her face flushed with embarrassment and desire.
I lift my head just enough to respond, "Don't apologize. Nothing else matters except that you're enjoying this."
Her eyes, heavy-lidded with pleasure, meet mine.