Page 30 of Second Position (Astor Hill #2)

“I got that, watching you,” I tell her, catching the disbelieving wrinkle in her brow.

“It was—” I start, struggling to find the words.

“You know when you see the sky and you’re like shit—that exists, was always going to exist, just like that, so perfectly?

And there’s no way to explain it because it’s just a natural wonder.

And you’re kind of breathless, could cry if you don’t look away because it’s that beautiful.

Felt like that,” I explain, the memory of her so weightlessly poised in the air rekindling the yearning I felt that afternoon, my throat bobbing as I glance away in hopes of hiding the flare of embarrassment on my face.

She catches her lip between her teeth, pulls it through as she looks up at me with her brows raised, her blush barely perceptible under the cover of night.

“I guess you need to see more ballet then. Beauty is kind of its thing,” she responds, cheekily. She walks past me, brushing against my arm as she reverses course, expecting me to follow.

Of course, I do.

“I’ve been to the ballet before.”

“Oh. Have you?” She pauses before a tree, spinning around with the grace I’ve become so familiar with.

“Mm, I have,” I regard her, nodding as I watch the soft flutter of her lashes, the slight parting of her lips. “Kind of think it’s you.”

Time seems to slow, her chest rising and falling, her eyes serious as they rake over my face, deciding something, and then?—

She tilts her head in invitation and we collide, like the past twenty-four hours have compounded every ounce of anticipation.

I can’t help but sink my hand into her hair, the other one wrapping around her waist, bringing her into me as she lets her head fall back on a sigh.

My lips brush against her neck, feel the beat of her pulse against me, before bringing her lips back to mine.

I run my tongue along the seam and she opens for me, meeting me stroke for stroke, digging her fingers into my scalp like she can’t be close enough.

I can’t be close enough, and I finally let myself feel her, cupping the swell of her breast over her dress, stroking and teasing and pinching, her gasp echoing in the woods.

Flustered and hot beneath my touch, she looks up at me as I pull back, needing to slow myself. The distance between this and burying myself deep inside her is dissipating the longer I touch her.

“What?” she asks between small, breath pants, her gaze flitting between my eyes and my lips. “Why did you stop?” I feel the delicate strength of her arms pull me back toward her, and I trail my nose up the delicate column of her neck, breathing her in, kissing the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

“I’m trying to control myself,” I whisper against her ear, turning her head and kissing her softly.

“I didn’t ask you to,” she says, grinning against me.

“Gen.” I pause, needing to know if everything she said last night is still true, if it was another heat of the moment reaction or if she really wants this. Wants me. “What about our deal?”

I wait with bated breath, wanting her to want me. Wanting her to tell me this deal was just a part of our story and not the entirety of it.

I watch as her eyes soften, preparing to wreck me or give herself over. Which, I’m not sure.

“I think we should call it off.” She swallows thickly. “Don’t you?”

She looks at me through her lashes, and time feels agonizingly slow, the hot tension between us pulled like taffy on a hook begging to be brought back together. She gets close, barely any space between us, our lips just a hair's breadth away, waiting.

“I’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” I tell her, and the relief has us diving back into each other .

The moment our lips touch—every time they touch—I can’t imagine not feeling her like this for the rest of my life. It’s every best feeling I’ve ever had, wrapped in the tantalizing and inexplicable sensation of her. Fitted to mine as we move together, I know her lips were made for mine.

I walk her back until she’s pressed against the tree and I slip my hand beneath her hem, the dress riding up to reveal more and more, and I shiver at the feel of her.

She trails her hand down my chest until it meets the hard ridge I’ve been doing my best not to mindlessly press into her, the awareness that this could be new to her in every touch I give her.

She grips me over my jeans, her delicate hand stroking me in time with her breathy moans, and I feel the strain against my zipper.

“You’re gonna have to stop that,” I murmur against her neck.

“Can’t control yourself?” she teases.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been controlling myself around you,” I confess, lightly running my fingers across the already stiff peak of her breast, and I feel her laughter rumble beneath me.

Her hand doesn’t fall away but, instead, distractingly feels it’s way back up, her fingers drifting across my chest in a way that has me wishing they were brushing against my bare skin.

“Better?” she asks, grinning, before capturing my mouth in another blistering kiss.

There’s nothing timid or restrained or icy about the way Gen kisses me; it’s hot, languid strokes and careless, breathy moans and soft, gripping hands and wanting to be as close as she could possibly be to me.

Like if every inch of our bodies were in contact it wouldn’t be enough but she’s trying anyway.

“I don’t know if that’s how I’d describe it,” I admit, crazed as I feel my way down, sliding my hand to her inner thigh, torturing myself just as much as I am her with how lightly I stroke her.

“Don’t tease me, Grant,” she urges, breaking our kiss, her breath more raged with every second.

“Just appreciating how soft you are.”

“First time?” she quips, eyes heavy with lust, but quiet insecurity sits behind them.

“Lift,” I say, letting my touch drift over her sensitive center before wrapping behind her thigh, “like this.”

She shudders, her hands grasping my shoulders as I guide her leg higher, opening herself up to me, and I slowly press a finger into her, my head falling to her shoulder as a tortured moan escapes her.

“Fuck.” I swallow hard, coming up to look at her. “Do you ever touch yourself?” The thought of it has my need for her coiling tighter.

She blushes but answers anyway. “Sometimes.”

I slowly pull out of her, adding another finger as I sink back in, then out again, then in, and I feel her wet arousal, hear it. “Like this?” I skate my thumb over her clit, rub as my fingers stroke.

I’m looking at her now, watching her chest rise and fall in the periphery, memorizing the way her pouty lips stay parted between moans, witnessing how she somehow looks even more beautiful lost in her arousal.

“No,” she answers, like an afterthought, her eyes trained on mine and so focused on what I’m giving her—so focused on me. “This is,” she takes a shallow breath as she presses her eyes shut, “better.”

She opens them again, her gaze locking with mine, and I watch her chase the feeling.

“That’s it. You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” My fingers stop their stroking, instead focusing on her clit and finding the rhythm she needs. “Are you gonna come for me, Genevieve?”

Her gasp is like lighter fluid on a brushfire and my lips crash into hers, my free hand stroking and gripping her.

I can feel her tensing against me, can sense this tidal wave of energy approaching, and when it finally consumes her, she holds nothing back as her release racks her body.

I don’t stop until she’s collapsed against me, the final waves of her climax subsided.

Her breath is steady, so steady and calm as I hold her, time passing without any real measure.

“Sorry,” she says, pulling back with a content smile on her face. “I’ve never…felt that.” She says it more like a question, like a wonder. Satisfaction races through me.

“You tellin’ me I’m the only person who’s made you come?” I can’t help but smirk, watching the most adorable person I’ve ever seen be this limp and languid and deliriously happy because of me. Her eyes roll, the way they do, and I steal a kiss. She kisses me back, freely.

She rolls her lips together like she’s savoring the kiss, her cheeky grin spurring one of my own. “Gentleman don’t brag , do they?”

“This one does,” I say, gazing down at her, finding myself unable to get my fill. I don’t think it’s possible.

One arm wrapped around her waist, my other hand mindlessly sifting through the bouncy waves of her hair, I hold her close to me, dreading the moment I’ll have to let go. She brings her hand up to my face, cradling it.

“What are you thinking?” she whispers.

“I’m thinking that… I don’t know when it happened, but I can’t stop thinkin’ about you.

I’m thinking that you are an integral part of me, all of a sudden.

” I step into her, cr owding her, dipping my head in an almost kiss.

“I’ve just been wanting you, Gen. I’ve been waitin’ for you to get here.

” Our lips brush, hers curved into an amused smile as she gently nudges me back, tilting her head.

“Since when?”

“Don’t know.” I give a small shrug, slightly embarrassed by how long I’ve been gone for her.

“The bar?” I shake my head. “The game?” I shake my head again, and her brows furrow. “Before?” she asks, shocked.

“The moment you propositioned me by that tree, I had a feeling there was something there.” I fight a grin as I tease her, her head shake and eye roll doing something to my heart. “That mornin’ you showed up at my door,” I finally admit.

Her eyes go soft, remembering. “I’d just been so shitty to you.”

“I know.”

“That was it?”

“That was it.” I pull her in, breathing in her heated, sweet vanilla scent. “I thought I could walk away and then you showed up and…I couldn’t.” I say it and immediately wish I could reel it back, feeling stripped bare.

“Thank you for staying,” she says, her breath whispering against my chest.

“You’re worth it, Gen.”

She hums, the feeling warm as it buzzes against me. And holding her, telling her how I feel—it all feels right.

She takes a short breath before smoothing her hands down my sweater and wrapping her arms low around my back. “I don’t want to go back there.”

“Me neither.”

“But I’m hungry. Sloane did not feed me. ”

“Sloane forgets to feed herself,” I chuckle, realizing that Sloane’s scheming might have, for once, been a good thing. “We can grab food.”

“Or…you could make me something?” Her smile is tentative.

“Whatever you want.” And I know I mean it.