Page 91 of Long Story Short

This is need.

Everything we couldn’t do all week finally catching up to us.

My hands move just as fast. They move over his chest, his shoulders, gripping his shirt like I need something to anchor myself to him while the room seems to spin because of the intensity with which he kisses me.

We don’t slow down. We can’t.

He lifts me like it’s nothing. I let him, my legs wrapping around him instantly, pulling him closer as my mouth stays locked to his, my breathing already uneven.

His hands tighten against my ass, pulling me flush against him like he’s trying to erase every single inch of space between us. He kisses me like he’s trying to make up for lost time.

“Josie,” he says against my mouth.

The sound of my name on his lips—low and rough—sends heat straight through me.

I rip my mouth from his at the same moment my fingers find the buttons of his shirt. “I need you,” I say before leaning in to kiss him again.

The words are honest and desperate and real.

He lets out a groan as he moves us toward the bed. A second later, I’m on my back, his body settling over mine. He kisses me in a new way—a way that doesn’t feel like he’s holding back anymore, like he doesn’t want to. Which is perfect because I don’t want him to either.

My hands dance along his body, needing to feel all of him. I need him to know how much I missed this.

How much I missed him.

I slide my hands down his back before I return to getting his shirt unbuttoned. He doesn’t stop me. The moment I get it fully undone, he lifts one arm and then the other, allowing me to push the fabric down his arms and off his body.

His mouth moves from mine, trailing down my jaw, achingly slow now. It’s like he’s taking his time, like he’s making up for every second we didn’t have together this week.

I run my fingertips along his now bare back, reveling in the way his muscles feel underneath my fingertips. They’re toned, and I could spend all day memorizing every hard dip and curve of them.

He kisses along my neck, and my head tilts back to give him more access without even thinking about it.

“I missed you. I need you,” I repeat, my fingers finding the button of his pants. I barely recognize my own voice. It’s unsteady, and maybe even a little breathy.

“Not as much as I need you,” he responds. His fingers find the hem of my shirt. I lift my body off the mattress enough to give him space to pull it off me.

He lets out a long breath as his eyes rake over my body. While back home in Manhattan, I made sure to grab hotter choices of clothing to wear for him. Today, I put on a lace bra that leaves little to the imagination through the pale pink fabric. The concentration and heat in his eyes as he takes it in tells me what I need to know—he approves.

His lips continue to trail along my skin, leaving me desperate for more. My body is on fire. Every brush of his lips. Every shift of his hands. Every second he takes his time and drags this out instead of giving in, it makes everything inside me build.

The tension.

The pull.

The need for more.

It’s all so intense it feels like I could combust at any moment.

“Ty,” I moan, needing more from him. “Please don’t make me wait for you this time.” I move my hand to the waistband of his boxer briefs, letting my fingertips dance along his length.

He sucks in a breath at the contact, his muscles tightening under my touch.

“Are you sure?” he asks, leaning down to kiss me on the neck as I run my fingers along his large, thick length again.

“I’ve never been more sure in my life,” I basically pant. I slip my fingers into the waistband of his briefs to prove my point.

His gaze finds mine as my fingers brush over him for the first time with no fabric between us, and something shifts in his expression.