Page 65 of Salvation (Clover-Hills #1)

Blake

W e’re settled back in the truck, but before Wesley can turn the key, I lay my hand on his. “I think…I think I want to start a group. Somewhere, people can go to talk about these things. About life. Where they can ask for help.”

He doesn’t hesitate to take my hand. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

We. God, I love the sound of that . I lean forward and plant a kiss on his lips at the word.

It’s sweet, short, and tender. But soon it takes a hungry turn, and the need to feel him, all of him, becomes crucial.

I crawl into his lap, keeping my lips locked on his.

Once I’m fully seated in his lap, he grips the sides of my head, pulling me back so that we’re eye to eye. “I love you.” He whispers.

“I love you.” I don’t hesitate in my response because it’s the truth.

Wesley is the one, and deep down, I think I always knew he was the one.

We may have been worlds apart for years, and we may have lived different lives for the majority of it, but my heart never left his.

It never will. I reach between us to grasp the buckle of his jeans, but he’s searching my eyes for any sort of hesitation. “Are you sure?”

I nod eagerly and breathlessly. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure.”

A low groan rises from his throat as he jerks my head back down and into a searing kiss.

He tastes like mint and smells like spice and looks entirely like he’s mine.

We get his jeans pulled down, with his boxers following suit.

His hard member presses against the rough material of my jeans, and we both moan in unison at the friction.

His hands slowly roam under my shirt, cold as they splay against my middle and creep up to the lacey underwire of my bra.

He takes his time undressing me. Slipping my long sleeve over my head, freeing my breasts to the chilly air, and unbuttoning my jeans.

Once I’m bare from the waist up, he’s trailing small kisses all over my collarbone and up my neck.

Kneading my ass and rolling my hips against his own.

An elated giggle erupts from me as he hovers over a particularly sensitive spot, and he nips it in return.

He raises my hips so that we’re perfectly lined up, and we both watch with heavy-lidded eyes as I sink onto him.

We both stay there, still for a moment, until it turns frantic, and we’re both chasing the release.

The windows turn foggy, our handprints littering the glass.

And while it’s still a hurried moment full of lust, it’s different than before.

Sweeter. Slower. Softer. As if we’re savoring each other.

As if we finally understand that this is real and that it’s not going anywhere.