“Never.” I move in slowly and capture his mouth with mine, licking along the seam of his lips until he opens up for me, which only takes half a second. I relish his minty flavor and moan into his mouth. His tongue strokes mine in a way that sets my skin on fire, and I’m desperate for him. Tangling my hands in his hair, I pull him closer to me and rub my chest against his. His hands run up my back, tickling along my spine and grazing around toward my front. I’m not sure what he’s better at, touching or kissing. Both send me into a frenzy where I feel like I’m going to combust at any moment. His callused hands expertly squeeze my breasts. “Mmm, right there.” I kiss him along his stubbled jaw and toward his ear. “I need you.”
His mouth runs down my body between my breasts, kissing and licking every inch of me. “Dylan, I want to do something.”
My lips pull at his ear and I release it enough to reply, “Anything.” Because I would do anything with this man. It’s obvious to everyone at this point. I feel his hot breath on my chest and he hesitates, causing me to lean back. He lifts his face up to mine. “Anything,” I repeat.
His Adam’s apple rolls in his neck and his lips part. “I want to make love to you.”
I gasp, completely shocked and unprepared for this request. I was honestly expecting something along the lines of anal play, which I’m totally up for with him, even though I’ve never done it before. The thought of anal sex terrified me once, but this, this request that he’s just thrown out between us? I’m not sure there’s anything more terrifying. But I want to, and I can at least try, right? For him, for Reese Carroll, for the look he’s giving me right now, yes. I can at least try.
My heart constricts so much that I reach up and place my hand on it, making sure it didn’t just beat for the last time. He wants to make love to me. Love. Not fucking. My mind is scrambling for words. He’s studying me, waiting for my response. I know I’ve been silent for at least several minutes and I’m sure it’s killing him inside, but he’s not showing it. His face is soft and pleading, eyes searching mine and conveying that we can do this. That I can do this.
“Okay,” I say finally, and I think we’re both shocked that I actually spoke. “I just need to use the bathroom first.” He grins wide, my favorite lines appearing, and kisses me quickly on the lips as he lifts me off him. Without a glance back, I scurry into the bathroom and close the door behind me.
Shit. I’m about to make love to a man who I’m struggling to not fall in love with? What am I insane? I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror and quickly comb my fingers through my hair. My cheeks are flushed, my nipples are hard, and I’m beyond ready for him between my legs. Everything about me is ready for this right now, everything except for what’s burning inside my chest cavity. I can’t even begin to imagine what making love to him consists of. Fucking him is intense and borderline intimate as it is. And that’s definitely all we’ve done so far. If I didn’t know it before, his request just confirmed it. So what exactly am I in for? Have I ever even made love before? I think long and hard about that as I quickly use the toilet. No, no way. Not with Justin. I’m not even sure he’s capable of making love to anyone. He was always so distant when we were having sex that he barely kept eye contact with me. And making love consists of eye contact I’m sure. I hurriedly wash my hands and try to mentally prepare myself for what’s about to happen as I exit the bathroom and return to his bedroom. I’m halted in my tracks. Oh, God.
I’m stopped in the doorway by the sight of candles lit and covering both nightstands, providing an amber glow throughout the room. Reese is messing with his phone as he places it on the docking station on his dresser when he turns to me, seeing my expression and straightening instantly. “Too much?”
I bite my lip and shake my head. It’s perfect; he’s perfect. “No, I like it.” I settle on the bed, kneeling and resting back on my heels as I watch him continue playing with his phone. He’s looking for a song and I’m almost one hundred percent sure I know what song he’s looking for. Damn it, I need to look up those lyrics. But that’s not what starts playing as he walks over toward me. “Look After You” by The Fray pours through the speakers. I’m familiar with this song and its lyrics, which will surely rip my heart out if he’s not trying to tell me something with this selection. “This isn’t cliché is it? Candles and music?” he asks as he runs his hands through his hair and down his face.