Page 84 of All Our Nevers

“Like what?” she asks, hands moving to my biceps as mine find her waist.

“Like you,” I say, hovering my mouth over hers.

We’re so close, but not yet. Each warm exhale teases my skin, begging me forward, drawing me in.

At first, our lips barely touch—a momentary brush of pink on red, whisper-thin and desperate.

Then again, a moment more, enough to linger, but not enough.

The air is thick between us, a cloud of whiskey and lust in each shared breath. I press my mouth to hers again, more insistent this time, trapping her bottom lip between my own, pushing and taking until finally.

She throws her arms around my neck, twining her fingers into my hair as I crush my lips to hers. She tastes like cinnamon and feels like heaven—soft, lithe, strong. Her pillowy lips, her slender waist. I want her to know how badly I need her, to see what she does to me.

My hands roam greedily over her hips before grabbing her ass and pressing her against my body, letting her feel exactly how hard I am.

Being the woman she is—all passion and fire—she meets every motion, every tease and bite and moan with her own. I lick into her mouth and she gasps into mine, arms encircling my neck as our bodies crush together, grinding against my growing need.

I’ve wanted her for so long. Far longer than I’ve even liked her. Her legs, her tits, her sharp nails and wicked mouth. She’s a siren who lured me in from the first notes of her call.

And I would’ve expected my need to plateau—a physical desire burning steady in the back of my mind each time I see her. But it’s the opposite. With every day we spend together, every sliver of herself she chooses to reveal, I feel more ensnared. More awed. I’ve never felt like this before. Desperate for anything she's willing to offer me, savoring the moments I’m near her, begging time to slow before she realizes she could have anyone in the world and doesn’t need me. Before she changes her mind.

Amelia’s hands make their way to my chest, pulling at the buttons on my shirt with a messiness I’ve never seen from her. And maybe—God, maybe—she feels a bit of this desperation, too.

I wait for all of two buttons before I need the damn thing off. I break our kiss, reaching behind my neck to tug the shirt over my head. When I come back to her, my hands immediately reach for the smooth fabric at her hips, fingers twisting urgently in the satin. My lips find the place where her neck meets her shoulder, sucking and biting and whispering, “Take this off. I have to see you.”

She steps back, a foot of space between us, and I think she’s going to comply—going to finally let me see her. But her eyes travel down my exposed chest, meandering over the scattered tattoos until they land elsewhere, lower. Then she reaches forward, two elegant fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of my pants.

“Not yet.” She smirks up at me, and I’m such a fucking goner. “First take these off.”

My hands find my belt without dropping her gaze, loosening it and letting my pants fall to the floor, left in only my boxer briefs.

She takes a half step towards me, then nods over my shoulder. “Lie back on the bed.”

A smile crawls across my lips.

Because of course.

Of course this is how this is going to go.

I’m used to calling the shots, telling my partner exactly what I want, and what a good job she’s doing when she gives it to me. But that’s not Amelia. Of course she would be the one in charge. And I’ll gladly do whatever she tells me.

Obediently, eyes never leaving hers, I sit at the edge of her double bed, then shift back until my head rests on a pillow.

“Good,” she praises. “Now hold onto the headboard and don’t let go.”

Her expression is wicked and lovely—the corners of her mouth resisting a smile, her eyes narrowed to seductive slits. Slowly, I reach my arms over my head, clutching the wooden bars of her headboard like the reins of my self-control.

Finally, Amelia reaches behind herself to unzip the dress. The air is lava-thick as she lowers one strap, then the second, until the green satin is held up by nothing more than a single hand across her chest.

Then she lets it fall.

“Fuuuuuck,” I rasp.

I mean Jesus Christ.

This is unfair.

She’s perfect. She’s fucking perfect.