Page 32 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell (Wisteria Cove #1)

The rasp of his calluses against my skin sends shivers racing up my spine.

His thumbs trace just above my waistband, a possessive press, a reverent caress.

His gaze dips lower, slow and deliberate, and when it lands on the swell of my breasts straining against lace, his jaw tightens, his throat works like he’s swallowing back a curse.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, almost broken.

The words hit me like a flame to tinder. I tighten my hold in his hair, pulling harder, needing him closer, needing everything. My body is trembling, breath shallow, heat coursing through me. His stare doesn’t waver, and in that moment, I know neither of us is stopping this.

I climb another rung, slow and deliberate, and he follows immediately, his body pressing close, his hands sliding higher, claiming more. The loft looms just above us, shadows waiting to swallow us whole, to keep our secrets.

When we reach the top, he says my name like a prayer. Like a promise.

All I can think about is him, and needing him. I pull him towards me, pulling his sweatshirt over his head, unbuckling his belt. He kisses me, then pauses and unbuttons my pants, and then his hands cup my face as he kisses me urgently.

“Tate, I need you…”

He says nothing, just lowers his mouth to my neck.

His lips drag over my skin, soft and wet, before his teeth catch, nibbling in a way that makes my breath stutter.

A low growl rumbles from him, vibrating against my throat, and fire licks up my spine.

It feels like he can’t get enough of me, like he’s starving, and the thought makes my whole body clench with want.

His fingers slip beneath the straps of my bra, tugging it down until it falls away.

The cool air barely has time to kiss my skin before his hands are there, palms hot, covering me.

He groans into my mouth as he takes me in his hands, rough and reverent all at once, and I arch into him, desperate for more.

His thumbs stroke over my nipples, slow circles that send a jolt of sensation straight to my core.

The calluses on his fingertips scrape against the sensitive peaks, and the contrast of his rough skin against my softness makes me whimper into his kiss.

Pleasure coils low in my belly, sharp and insistent, and my thighs squeeze together, rubbing for even a shred of friction.

It isn’t enough. I need more. I need him.

He kisses me harder, mouth claiming mine, his tongue stroking deep while his hands keep teasing, kneading, pulling moans from my throat.

Every flick of his thumbs has me trembling, every scrape makes me ache worse.

His lips leave mine just long enough to trail back down my neck, sucking, nipping, marking me with his hunger.

I’m gasping, rubbing my thighs together, rocking helplessly into his touch while he devours me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted.

“Wait, wait,” I say breathlessly. He stops and looks at me, holding my hips and searching my eyes.

“I don’t want to mess this up…”

He nods, breathless. “Okay.”

We stare at each other for a beat, an entire non-verbal conversation passing between us.

I lean up and kiss him again, swiping my tongue across his lip, his soft groan filling the room.

“You want this?” he asks.

I nod, and he says, “No, I need you to say it.”

“I want this. I want you, and I want us.”

He eases me back onto the bed, his weight a steady press that makes me feel caged and claimed.

His beard grazes my skin as he trails kisses down my abdomen, each scrape and drag sending little shocks through me.

I arch against the mattress, my fingers clutching at the sheets, my breath already breaking apart.

When his lips reach the waistband of my panties, he pauses.

His fingertips trace the edge, featherlight, then slide down my thigh.

Slowly, reverently, like he’s memorizing every curve, every line.

The roughness of his skin against the smoothness of mine makes me shiver.

He squeezes, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my hips, and then he hooks the lace and begins to tug.

It’s unhurried, torturous, even, as he pulls them down, inch by inch. His gaze never leaves me, hot and searing, and the way he looks at me—like I’m his, like I’m everything—makes me feel beautiful. Desired. Wanted in a way that I’ve never felt before.

The fabric slides down my thighs, my calves, until it falls away completely. I’m bare beneath him, only for him, and the power of that realization sends a pulse of confidence through me. He lingers, his hands smoothing back up my legs, palms broad and possessive.

His head dips, lips brushing the inside of my thigh. A kiss, then another, then a slow sucking pull that makes me squirm. He trails a path higher, closer, and I can’t stay still. My thighs shift restlessly, my hips rolling without permission, chasing his mouth.

And then he’s there, settling between my thighs like he belongs.

His lips part against me, pressing soft at first, his breath hot, his beard rough against my skin.

He opens me with a gentle stroke of his tongue, one slow, devastating lick across my center.

The sound that breaks from me is raw and helpless.

I force my eyes open, desperate to see him, and the sight steals whatever air I have left. Tate looks up at me through his lashes, eyes blazing, dark and dangerous. Needy. Possessive. Like the taste of me is already his addiction.

It’s wrecking, seeing him there. His broad shoulders framed between my thighs, his body ripped and defined, muscles flexing as he holds me down. All that strength, all that control, bent to the single purpose of ruining me, worshipping me. He’s devastating. He’s mine.

I grip the sheets and pull myself back and he wraps his hands around my thighs and pulls me to him, taking his time, licking, kissing, and making me feel so amazing.

He feels the way my body arches into him, the way I gasp and tremble, and his grip tightens on my hips.

His fingers dig into me, holding me steady, as if he knows I might try to squirm away from the unbearable pleasure.

His tongue slides deeper, stroking and circling, teasing and tormenting until every nerve in me is lit like wildfire.

Sensation shoots through me, sharp and sweet, tightening every muscle.

My toes curl hard, pressing into the sheets, and I can barely breathe around the cries spilling from my lips.

Heat coils low in my belly, building higher and higher, and I don’t know how much more I can take.

His tongue is wicked, relentless, coaxing me to the edge again and again.

I gasp his name, broken and needy, and then he closes his lips around my clit.

A sharp, deliberate nibble, just enough pressure, and I come undone.

The explosion rips through me, blinding and unstoppable, shattering every last bit of control.

Pleasure floods me in waves, violent and consuming, and my moans fill the night air.

When my vision clears, I find him looking up at me.

Tate’s mouth is wet from me, his beard glistening, his eyes dark and fierce.

Proud. He looks proud of what he just did to me, and so aroused it nearly breaks me open all over again.

His chest heaves, his jaw clenched tight, like holding himself back is costing him everything.

But I can’t wait another moment. My body aches, desperate for more. Desperate for him. “Tate,” I whisper, voice ragged, “I need you inside me. Now.”

He rises, dragging his mouth from my skin with a groan, and his hands go to his belt. The clink of the buckle makes my pulse thunder. My eyes drop, following the movement as he pushes his trousers down his thighs, then his boxers.

My breath catches, my body trembling with anticipation.

The sight of him, thick and long, flushed dark with arousal, steals every coherent thought from my head.

The kind of sight that makes my mouth water, my body ache, my thighs clench with need.

Veins rope along his shaft, and his tip is already slick, proof of how much he wants this, wants me.

It’s overwhelming, powerful, and somehow intimate, this moment of seeing him bare. He is beautiful in the most devastating, masculine way. And he’s mine.

Every inch of me burns with need. I want him. I want to feel him stretch me, fill me, ruin me completely.

I reach blindly for the bedside table, fumbling until my fingers close around the box. My hand is shaking as I tug a condom free and slide it out, passing it to him. Our fingers brush, and the contact is electric, sharp enough to make my breath catch.

He tears the foil carefully with his teeth, his gaze locked on mine the entire time. The small sound of the rip is obscene in the silence, my pulse thundering so loud I can hear it in my ears. He spits the wrapper aside and grips himself, fist wrapping around his thick length.

I can’t look away. His arms flex with the movement, every muscle taut and defined, veins standing out along his forearms as he strokes once, then rolls the condom down. The latex stretches over him inch by inch, and I feel my thighs press together helplessly at the sight.

He’s so big, so hard, and the image of him covering himself while staring at me like I’m his whole world makes my mouth go dry. His eyes are molten, burning into me, dark with hunger and possession.

He pulls me close, entering me slowly, pushing and filling me until I feel fuller than I’ve ever been. God, it feels so good.

He presses against me, the broad head of him sliding at my entrance, and my breath catches in my throat.

He pushes in slowly, achingly slow, stretching me inch by deliberate inch.

My nails dig into his shoulders, my head falling back against the pillow as my body adjusts around the thick, heavy length of him.

The sensation is overwhelming. Full. Deep. Like he’s touching places inside me I didn’t even know existed. My thighs tremble, every muscle pulled taut, and a strangled moan slips past my lips.

He braces on his forearms, his weight pressing me into the mattress.

The smell of him surrounds me with sweat, salt, woodsmoke, and man, and I breathe it in greedily, intoxicated.

His jaw is tight, his brow furrowed, every line of his face etched with restraint as he holds himself back.

The tension in him is electric, vibrating through me and making me ache even more.

He moves slow at first, rolling his hips, drawing almost all the way out before sliding back in. Teasing. Drawing out every flicker of sensation until I’m writhing beneath him, my legs locking around his waist. “More,” I gasp, nails raking down his back. “I need you.”

Something in him snaps. His hips drive harder, faster, his body pounding into mine with a rhythm that steals my breath.

The bed creaks, my moans filling the air, and still his eyes stay locked on mine.

The heat there is scorching, primal, as if he can’t get enough of watching me unravel beneath him.

Our fingers tangle together, his hands folding into mine, pinning them above my head. The move makes me gasp, makes me feel completely taken, completely his. Each thrust hits deeper, harder, until sparks explode behind my eyes.

I arch against him, my breasts crushed to his chest, the rough hair of his torso abrading my sensitive skin in the most delicious way.

Every inch of him is on me, in me, surrounding me.

The rhythm builds, sweat slick between our bodies, breath mingling, his growls vibrating against my throat as he buries his face there, biting, sucking, tasting.

He shifts suddenly, rolling us so I straddle him, his cock still buried deep. My palms flatten on his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle, the frantic beat of his heart under my hands. His hands grip my hips tight, guiding me as I rock over him, the friction unbearable and perfect.

I ride him, losing myself in the motion, the slide of his length filling me again and again, each thrust dragging me closer to the edge. His eyes burn into mine, dark and feral, watching me take my pleasure, watching me come apart.

Heat coils low in my belly, sharper this time, and I chase it desperately, moving harder, faster, my moans rising higher with every thrust. His thumb presses between my thighs, finding my swollen clit, rubbing tight circles as he drives up into me. The combination destroys me.

The climax tears through me, violent and unstoppable. My body shakes, clamping around him, cries spilling raw and helpless from my throat. I shudder over him, lost, undone, every nerve alight.

Tate groans, the sound ragged, guttural, as he bucks up into me, relentless, as though he needs to drag every last wave from my body before letting go himself.

And God, the sight of him beneath me, sweat-slick, muscles straining, eyes blazing with hunger and pride, is almost enough to undo me all over again.

I collapse against him, trembling, breathless, and still pulsing around him, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and sex and him.

This isn’t just sex. It’s fire. It’s frenzy. It’s the best I’ve ever had. And it terrifies me how much I want it again, how much I want him .

He comes hard and pulses inside and holds me tight, and I know that this is it. He’s it for me. He’s always been my anchor.

Later, tangled in flannel sheets and breathless silence, I lie against his chest, the steady thump of his heart grounding me.

The lanterns are still glowing outside.

The bookstore smells like cinnamon and change.

And in this moment, I believe we might actually be okay.

Even if the other shoe does drop…I think we’ll catch it. Together.