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And there, just like clockwork, he was.
“I need help back at my house,” she said, her voice sounding oddly loud, confident and assertive.
“At your house?”
“Yes,” she said. “I can drive us there.”
“Sure,” he said.
He got into the car alongside her, and she took a deep breath. She hoped that she didn’t chicken out. She really did.
She wanted to do something wild. She wanted to do something that made her happy now. She wanted to do something that felt good now.
She had always told herself stories. She wasn’t that physical, she wasn’t that sexual. She just liked being close. And at the very bottom of that was the idea she didn’t deserve any more than she was being given freely by Carter.
She didn’t deserve to critique his performance in the bedroom, or how it worked and didn’t work for her, because she should just be grateful that he had shown her any interest in the first place.
That was how she had always lived her life. She couldn’t ask for anything more from anybody, because she had to take what she was given.
She didn’t deserve anything else.
Well, right now she wanted to abolish that completely. Absolutely destroy it. She deserved more. She did. She deserved everything.
And she was going to demand it.
Well, that probably wasn’t true. She was probably just going to kiss him. And hope that he got the hint. If she had to after that, she would demand it, but she had a feeling that he would get what she was asking for. And, thank God.
When they got to the house she turned the car off, her hands shaking, then he got out of the vehicle when she did and led the way up the steps to her own house. She felt like that was a pretty good sign.
And once they were inside, he looked at her. “What did you need?”
And she did it. Threw herself at him. Threw herself into his arms, clasping her hands around the back of his neck. “Just you. Please.”
“Well, thank God,” he said, and his lips crashed down onto hers.
It was happening. He was kissing her, and they were alone. All alone in her house, with no one else about to interrupt them. They had time. And they had enough desire to light a fire in the woodstove with no effort at all. “Bedroom,” she mumbled.
“Don’t have to ask me twice.”
He picked her up, like she weighed nothing, and walked them back to her bedroom, tossing her onto the bed, and he gripped the bottom of his shirt and wrenched it up over his head, and her mouth went dry.
He was, without a doubt, the most spectacular man she had ever seen. And for the first time, she was grateful that they didn’t have the separation of a movie screen between them. Thankful that he wasn’t some distant sexy superhero, but that he was a man, in front of her. Close enough to touch. To taste. And suddenly she wanted to do that. And she was not denying herself any good thing. Not anymore. So she got up onto her knees, leaned forward, and pressed her hands against his abs, licking him, from just above his belly button up to his nipple.
And he gasped, jerking sharply as she did.
“Was that bad?”
“No. Put your tongue anywhere you want.”
“Everywhere,” she said. “I want to put it everywhere.”
“I am okay with that.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her up, bringing her lips against his again, and she arched restlessly, wishing that she were naked so that she could feel his skin against hers. As if he had heard that mental entreaty, he grabbed her shirt and tore it off, unhooking her bra and throwing it down onto the floor.
“My fantasies did not do you justice,” he growled, his large hands moving to cup her bare breasts, his thumbs rough as he skimmed them over her nipples.
She had never really thought her nipples were all that sensitive. But it turned out they were. An arrow of pleasure shot itself between her thighs, and she was surprised she was able to stay upright. It was probably only because he had his arm wrapped around her waist, otherwise she would have tipped over.
