Page 113 of Her Wicker Guardian

I want that again.

My hand moves along her waist toward her hip, slowly enough that she can stop me. Instead, Rachel shifts beneath my palm and fits herself closer against me.

My erection presses between our bodies, and I go still.

Rachel does not move away. Her hand leaves my shirt and slides around the side of my neck, her fingers resting where living green growth threads through the finer willow above my collar.

Pleasure flashes through me so quickly that a vibration rolls through my chest.

Rachel pulls back barely far enough to speak. “Was that good?”

“Yes.”

Her thumb strokes the same place again, slower this time. The vibration returns, deeper this time, and the pleasure of it changes when I see the attention on her face.

Now I understand why I wanted to see her face while she touched me. I like watching her discover what feels good to me.

I slide my hand fully onto the curve of her hip. “Still okay?”

“Yes.”

I kiss her again.

This one does not stay careful for long. Rachel opens her mouth beneath mine, and I learn from the small changes in her body. More pressure makes her lean into me. My tongue against hers makes her fingers tighten at my neck. When I move my hand farther around her hip, she makes the quiet sound I heard yesterday.

I want to hear it again.

My penis is so hard that the friction of her body against it almost hurts, but it feels too good to want it to stop. My hips move against her, and Rachel inhales sharply. I stop immediately. “Sorry.”

“Don’t.” Her cheeks are flushed, and her hand remains at my neck. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I liked it.”

Heat moves through me, and I press my hips against hers again, deliberately and slowly this time.

Rachel’s eyes close, and a little sound comes from deep in her throat, one I have never heard from her before. The rhythm in my chest strikes harder, heat spreads through my stomach, and my hand tightens at her hip. I want to touch every place that makes her do that. The thought is so strong that my gaze drops to the front of her shirt.

Rachel notices. “Those are my breasts.”

“Breasts.” The word is familiar. The reason she is naming them now is not.

“You know the word?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know they’re sensitive?”

That is new. “No.”

“When I want you to touch them, it can feel very good.”

I look at the covered curves again. “I’d like to see them.”

Rachel laughs. “You really don’t believe in easing into things, do you?”

“I’m describing what I want.”

“I’ve noticed.”

She starts to step back, but my hand is still loosely at her hip. I let it fall immediately. Rachel notices, and her laughter softens before she takes my hand and puts it back.