AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Her skin is warm when my hands find her back. She arches her shoulders back, making it easier for my fingers to slide beneath the strings that criss-cross her spine. I don’t want anything between my skin and hers.
Without breaking the kiss, she’s got my vest unbuttoned and is working on my shirt. “You look—so good—” she says. Her fingertips sink into my skin underneath, and when I kiss her neck she drags her nails down the length of my back. She arches again, this time pressing her hips tighter against mine. Her throat rumbles under the stroke of my thumb when she moans. “You feel so good, Sawyer.”
“Gwen.”
She doesn’t say anything. It’s like she can sense that I don’t need her to; I just need her name in my mouth and my mouth on her skin. After she lets me press a kiss behind her ear, she pulls back, my tie wrapped around her hand. She tugs at the knot until it comes undone, then slides it off my neck and tosses it to the bed.
“This,” she says, a smirk forming across her still-perfect lips, gesturing toward my now-exposed torso, “is pretty impressive. Think I should take up running?”
“This,” I mimic, motioning in the same way she did, “came from strength training. You know what came from running?”
She shakes her head and bites her lip. “What’s that?”
“Endurance.”
Gwendolyn
Who knew? Who knew that Sawyer Dawson could be so hot? And not just in the obvious, almost comically unfair physical sense, but, like, also in this smoldering, sexy, bedroom eyes, innuendo way.
My nerves are on fire with a singular realization: I want him.
His jacket shifts on my shoulders, and his eyes dart to the movement, then to the bare skin it’s revealed. He inches closer, curls his fingers around the lapel, and slides it down my arms. As it drops to the floor, my skin prickles. It’s slow and languid, the way he moves, but his eyes tell the real story: he’s processing all of this as he goes, moving with intention. And I’m so tightly wound, just this look threatens to unravel me.
“Are you sure—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“Yes. One hundred percent.”
“If you change your mind, Gwen, just say so.”
“I won’t. I’ve wanted this all day. But same, for you. You’re allowed to say no.”
He cups his hands around my face and presses his forehead to mine. His chest rises and falls with the warm breaths that play across my lips. “Baby, I’ve wanted this all week.”
I can’t wait another second for this, and I don’t want him to have to wait, either. I meet his mouth and guide his hands down the sides of my upper half, from my neck to my chest to my waist and hips, then around to the tie at the base of my spine. When he fumbles with it, he turns me so I’m braced against the desk and he’s behind me, trying to loosen the knot.
This man’s desk is a shrine to me, from my favorite wine to my favorite snacks to a copy of my book in the corner. I catch his reflection in the mirror, see the way his brows knit, the way he bites his lip a moment before my dress loosens. Then he looks up and kisses the back of my neck while his eyes meet mine in the mirror and his hands grip my waist.
“How do you want this?” he asks.
Without a drop of irony, I bite my lip and say, “I’m an open book, Sawyer. Just read me.”
There’s a prologue, a gentle introduction in which he guides me back and lowers me onto the couch, whispering kisses into my neck, my shoulders, my ears. With this exposition, he reveals himself to me: first by shrugging out of his shirt and vest, then unbuckling his belt and sliding his pants down his toned legs as he stands in front of me.
Then the real story begins, because his eyes meet mine and I lean toward him. I trace the muscle of his naked thigh to the hem of his shorts, graze my fingers over the outline of his bulge. My hands are on his waistband, my eyes watching to see him spring free, and his fingers cover mine.
“Gwen,” he says. I’m the protagonist, the heroine. The center of the story and the center of his attention. “You don’t have to—” He cuts himself off with a gasp as I peel back the elastic and take him into my mouth, beginning a new chapter.
His knees buckle; he leans in to brace his hand against the wall behind me. “Fuck,” he whispers, and my eyes meet his. “That’s so good.”
In our next chapter, I’m standing, facing him, re-introducing myself to him. I slide my arms out of the straps of my dress and let it fall to the floor, so it’s just me and a V of black lace before him. His Adam’s apple bobs and his eyes search mine, and as he drops to his knees he kisses my mouth, my breasts, the inside of each thigh, removing my underwear as he sinks to the floor.
“On the bed, Gwen. Please.” His breath is warm on all the most sensitive parts of me, and I sit on the edge of the bed, lowering my back flat against the mattress. His tongue and fingers explore me, tease me, draw pleasure out of me. I’m coming undone, over and over and over again, and I need to feel the pressure of him inside me before I fall apart.
“Please—” I whimper, racked with the torment of another rush.
He stands, and his body is so visibly enjoying it that I don’t understand the concern that clouds his eyes and voice. “Are you sure? We can’t undo this, Gwen.”
My brain does a quick recap of the week, from that first infuriating meeting to kayaking and sea turtles, from private islands and hammock snuggles to last night’s laughter. I shake my head. “I don’t want to undo any of it, Sawyer.”
