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“You’ve been drinking.”
“I’m not drunk, Sawyer.” She kisses my mouth and resumes unbuttoning my shirt. “I, Gwendolyn Pierce—” another button, “—being of sound mind—” her teeth scrape my ear, “—hereby ask you, Sawyer Dawson—” her mouth is on mine, and I kiss her wide, wicked smile when she says, “to fucking take me.”
She arches her back and guides my hand to her zipper, and the soft fabric falls around her waist after one smooth pull. I know her bra is lace without even looking as my hands memorize every swell of her, and I crave the sensation of unhooking the clasp in the back and picking up where we left off yesterday. After all, I do have a tattoo of birds to look for.
Gwen’s hot against my chest as she finally undoes the last button. She bites her bottom lip as her fingers waltz across my Adam’s apple, and the look in her eyes is equal parts pleasure and pleading. I want to pin her to the wall and taste her until she begs me to stop.
We’re at an impasse: no more clothing can be removed like this, with her legs still wrapped around me and our bodies pressed together. Not fast enough, anyway. Her gaze shifts to the bed, and I swallow hard. I’m not like this, normally. I’m careful and logical, even with women, and maybe that makes me not the most exciting lover out there, but I’m thorough and detail-oriented, and I know that counts for something. These last few months, focusing on self-control… it all seems to disappear. But I feel grounded, if a little wild, being with Gwen. It’s dangerous and safe, all at once.
I lower her onto the bed, kissing her neck, my fingers running the length of her sternum. I back away only long enough to pull the jumpsuit off her legs. She rises then, skimming her hands up my chest, and yanks the shirt from my arms. Then her hands are on my belt buckle, and I scoop her up and slide her toward the headboard. She works her way back, inches at a time, while she nips at my lips and works the buckle. Once she has my pants undone, she shimmies them to my ankles.
She props herself on her elbows and looks at me. The boxer briefs leave nothing to the imagination, and when her hand makes contact with me through the tight fabric, I drop my head to her stomach and groan. I kiss her there, then an inch lower, then the inside of her thigh. She writhes and reaches for me, pulling my face closer to hers.
“Do you have something?” she asks, her throat rumbling under my tongue.
I finish my kiss and repeat the question. “Do I have some— Oh.” It takes a moment to decipher her meaning. “No. You?”
“No. Why would I?”
“Why would I? I thought I was just vacationing with my—”
“Don’t even say it.” She puts a hand against my chest and her eyes go wide. It’s true: it would be a mood killer to mention Nan now. “You didn’t like, I don’t know, get one, somewhere?”
I feel my eyes narrow as I mull over her words. “Where would I even—?”
“The gift shop. They sell them, right?”
It must be comical, the closeness of our bodies, the way they’re tangled together so intimately, frozen in a frenzy of limbs and needing to talk about the best place to buy a condom on a cruise ship.
“Probably? Maybe?”
“You didn’t look?”
“Why would I have looked, Gwen?”
She stares at me, exasperated and sexy, her lips full and her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving. A smile teases up the corner of her lips, and I can’t tell if she’s annoyed or if she finds this whole thing hilarious. “Because obviously this was going to happen. Tell me you didn’t see this coming.”
Gwendolyn
Tonight has definitely been Fun. Holy shit. So capital-effing Fun.
Sure, the game show and the mini-golf were great, and drinks and a game of pool were enjoyable. But sitting on the couch with him, chugging prize champagne, joking and learning about one another—I didn’t expect anything to get better than that.
And all that was before I ended up in his lap. Then in his bed. Despite what I said to him, I did not see this coming. Even after yesterday, after The Incident That Shall Not Be Mentioned, I didn’t think we’d end up here.
Though, here is an interesting idea. Here is right on the edge of something that is sure to be mind-blowing. Here is a leap into the unknown with a man who is still largely a stranger to me. Here is lying half-naked in Sawyer Dawson’s bed, with his forehead on my shoulder, as he controls his breathing and groans into my breasts.
My voice comes out timid, with all the confident energy we both shared a few moments ago evaporated in an instant. “Do you want me to go look in the gift shop?”
“They close at eleven,” he says, his words mumbled against my skin.
I glance at the clock: 11:42. Shit. “Do you want me to start knocking on doors? ‘Cause I will.”
“Not even a little.” He shakes his head and kisses my neck. “With our luck you’d probably knock at all the rooms that have little kids sleeping inside.”
“So. That leaves us with three options.”
Sawyer shifts and sits back on his heels, letting his fingers draw invisible pictures on my thigh. “Do tell.”
