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I drag her into the bedroom and shut and lock the door, pressing her against it, pinning her there with my body. Her yes was all I needed to hear and now I’m not going to let her get away from me.
Not until I touch her. Slip my hand beneath her dress. Maybe slip my hand beneath her panties too. Whatever she’ll let me do, I’m going to do because fuck. I want her.
Bad.
Willow tips her head back, her gaze heated, her mouth swollen from our earlier kiss on the stairway. I reach for her face, tracing my fingers along her delicate jaw. Her chin. Her lids lower, her lips parting on a sigh. And when I drag my thumb across her lower lip, she tilts her hips, pressing her lower body against mine.
My dick reacts, getting hard in an instant. I’ve had sex a handful of times with no one that special. The first time I did it was just to get the act out of the way. The next few times it was always with a girl I was attracted to during a drunken moment, sneaking away during a party or after a football game. Nothing serious.
Ever.
This feels serious. Monumental. Yes, we snuck away from a party, but it was a family party and I just … don’t really go to those with a girl. I feel like I’ve met pretty much every Lancaster in existence tonight, and I’m not tempted to go running scared out of here. I liked all of them. I watched Willow get her kiss print read by some whack fortune teller and I could tell she enjoyed every second of it. I even swiped her kiss card off the table when she wasn’t looking and it’s currently in the back pocket of my borrowed khakis. Probably bent to shit but I don’t care.
I wanted to keep them. A memory of this day—of this night.
“You have a sexy mouth,” I whisper to her because fuck, she seriously does. Her lipstick is long gone and I miss the scarlet red mouth, but her natural lips are a vivid pink. Plump and damp and sweet. I remember watching her eat those bites of cake earlier and that was about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen her do.
Wild but true.
I lean into her, acting like I’m going to kiss her but dodging to the side at the last minute, pressing my face against her neck. She tilts her head back, her hair rustling against the wooden door and I inhale her candy sweet fragrance. It’s like a drug, her scent, and I’m getting high the deeper I inhale her.
She rests her hands on my chest, her fingers hooking on the shirt pocket, tugging lightly. I borrowed the shirt from her brother because she was right—I didn’t have the right clothes for the party, but Row hooked me up. Next time I come here, I’ll make sure I bring clothes for every fucking occasion.
These damn Lancasters, they’re pretty fucking fancy and I can’t lie—being in their world is intoxicating. Almost as intoxicating as the girl I’ve got in my arms. The opulence, the history, the absolute joy they all have in celebrating each other in a giant way—it’s unmatched. My parents and family, we get along great. But we’re all scattered to the wind as careers and lifestyles have sent us to all parts of the country. I miss spending time with my cousins and my aunts and uncles. We need to do it more.
We need to do it up right like the Lancaster family.
But I shove all thoughts of family and parties and celebrating away when I feel Willow shift in my arms, her hands going to the center of my shirt, her fingers pausing on the top button. Hesitant. Asking a silent question.
I’m impressed by her bravery. This is a very un-Willow move, but I’m not about to stop her as she slowly but surely unbuttons my shirt, until it’s hanging open and she’s pushing the fabric aside, her hands landing on my ribs, her fingers splaying. As if she’s trying to touch every inch of my skin she can reach.
“You’re so warm,” she whispers. “And hard.”
My dick gets harder at hearing her say that word and I kiss her. Devour her with my mouth and tongue and even my teeth. Nipping at her lips, sucking on her tongue, tangling mine with hers. She moans, the sound soft and sweet, sending a ripple of awareness through my blood. I drop my hands lower, reaching for her, and she immediately understands what I want, going with me as I lift her up, my hands cupping her ass. She winds her legs around my hips, anchoring herself to me and I shift closer, pressing my erection against her so she can feel what she’s doing to me.
“Oh God,” she gasps against my lips, tilting her hips upward, the fabric of her dress riding up.
I break away so I can see her, my gaze eating her up. Whatever panties she’s got on aren’t much. The fabric is thin and drenched. I can feel her wetness rub against the front of my pants and fuck.
I want to take them off.
Instead, I kiss her for long, tongue-filled minutes, letting my hands wander all over her. The dress she wore tonight should be fucking criminal. Innocent and sexy all at once, which is the perfect description for Willow. At one point, I gently tug at the front of her dress, my fingers curling around the neckline, brushing against the soft skin of her tits, and she pulls away from my lips. Her breaths are coming fast, her entire body trembling, and when I press my index finger into the hollow spot where her breasts meet, her eyes fall closed, her voice so quiet I almost can’t hear her.
“I-I’ve never done this before.”
Her confession and how nervous she sounds is sweet. It also fills me with the need to make this moment special for her. A night she’ll never forget.
“I won’t do anything you don’t want to do,” I reassure her, removing my fingers from the front of her dress to cup the side of her face. Her eyes crack open, her gaze dazed and full of wonder when I lean in and brush her lips with mine. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
“I don’t think … I want you to stop anything,” she admits.
Those are words she should say cautiously. The wrong guy would have her bent over the bed and fucking her from behind without hesitation. Not that I don’t want to do that, I fucking do, but I’m not going to rush this.
“What have you done, princess?” I kiss her cheek. Her jaw. Her ear, her neck—that spot where it meets her shoulder, where her pulse thrums wildly. “Tell me.”
“Nothing.” Her hands slide down my chest, landing on the waistband of my khakis. She hesitates there before curling her fingers around the front beltloops and giving them a tug. “Kissing, but it’s never felt like this. That’s it.”
Just kissing. Meaning, she hasn’t done shit.
