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* * *
I need to see more of him, the desire taking over me. My fingers tremble as they move, unbuttoning his shirt, spreading it open so that my hands can explore his skin. I lean forward, lowering my mouth to his hot surface, skimming my tongue and teeth over the hard planes of his chest. His pelvis unexpectedly tilts, pushing me higher until our faces are level, and his mouth is on mine.
* * *
I get lost in his kisses. It is where I communicate with him freely, my mouth recklessly pouring out emotions that are best contained. Our tongues have no filter, the heat of our kisses lighting a fire between us that can only be put out with his cock. I reach down, my frantic hands grasping and pulling on leather, clasp, a button and zipper, a concert of hurried motions until I have him in my hand, hard and ready, his skin stretched tight, moisture already present at his tip.
* * *
He pulls me down, my hands quickly positioning him beneath me, tugging wet panties aside for his entrance. His mouth reluctantly releases me, his eyes watching me hungrily, fixed on my face as he thrusts up and into me.
* * *
I groan at the bare penetration, the thick push of him inside of me, the bare skin against my own, the first thrust almost painful in its stretch. I close my eyes and push fully down, a hiss whistling through his mouth as I rest for a quick moment atop him. My thoughts flicker to Drew and how this must look through the glass walls of the house.
* * *
He pulls at my skirt, slipping it over my head and throwing it aside, his hands running through my hair and gripping it tightly, pulling it back so that my neck is exposed.
* * *
I lose any thoughts of Drew when his mouth hits my neck, taking a possessive and decadent journey from my jaw to collarbone. His hands and hips lift and pump, a perfect orchestration of rhythm that swiftly takes me up the mountain of orgasm. I dig my nails into his shoulders, letting him take control, the ride one that is exquisite, my orgasm sharp and intense when it comes. He doesn’t stop, his breath hard, pumps rapid, until he reaches his peak, his mouth finding mine, one last shuddering thrust delivered.
* * *
I collapse against his chest, his heart thudding through the material of his shirt. There is the slow drag of his fingers across my back and I sigh, melting into his chest. Then he pats my back in the perfunctory way a doctor might test refluxes.
* * *
“I need to go outside.”
* * *
Of course he does. I roll off of him, swallowing a response, and stand. He doesn’t look at me when he stands. Maybe I’m an idiot for expecting that he would.
* * *
“I am not signing up for romance, or affection, or a full time job. You should never expect that from me.”
* * *
I grab my clothes from the floor and head to the bathroom to change.
CHAPTER 18
NATHAN
* * *
With Cecile, it had all been such a production. Two wedding planners. A hundred thousand dollars in flowers. Her days had been spent poring over catalogs, in dress fittings, auditioning musicians and writing checks.
* * *
All of that bullshit, and look how it had turned out.
* * *
He watches the courthouse come into view and turns to Candace. “Let’s go.”
* * *
They wait, sitting on metal folding chairs, then on a wooden bench, and listen to the other couples, each one a depressing Lifetime movie in the making. They were out of place here. His custom suit. Her dark jeans and silk shirt. She fidgets, her hands running along the length of her thighs, and he remembers the ring.
* * *
He opens his jacket, reaching into the left side and pulling out the dark velvet box. “Go ahead and put this on.” He holds it out to her, and she looks up at him.
* * *
Ten thousand dollars of beauty treatments and they couldn’t cover up that look. That nervous hope that floods her face and makes him feel like fresh Tennessee shit.
* * *
“This is for me?”
* * *
He doesn’t answer, and she takes the box carefully, as if it holds the Hope diamond. He’d had Mark pick the ring, something appropriate for the Nashville scene, and he watches her eyes widen at the three-carat diamond, one surrounded by emeralds, and its accompanying band. He looks away, and thinks of Cecile, the night he had proposed, the way she had screamed so loudly that everyone in Tahiti must have heard.
* * *
She pulls at the rings, fumbling with them, and he takes the box, removing the rings and reaching for her hand. “Here.” He slides them on, and doesn’t miss the small hitch in her breath, the lift of her eyes, and there is a minor moment between them in a day when he wanted no moment at all.
