He surveys my mouth first—already very well kissed by him. He rubs his index finger across my lipstick, rubbing what’s left of it off.
He takes his goddamned time—his sweet, long time—and I whimper and then sigh when he lowers his mouth to nip my lower lip. We groan and start kissing, his mouth melting everything around us but him.
He takes my hand and slips it around his neck, where he wants it, forcing my fingers to curl around his nape. “Someone could come out any moment . . .” I whisper.
The breeze caresses me softly. The salty scents of recent rain and damp cement and grass reach my nostrils. But more than anything, I smell him: wet forest. Metal and leather. His scents.
“I posted Derek by the doors. Nobody’s venturing out here.”
His whisper is more breath than voice, more groan. He edges back just a fraction, only enough to take me in with hazel eyes that sparkle like all the stars in the sky above.
“What if my friends want some fresh air,” I counter.
“Well, my girl’s taking up all the freshness there is out here.” He smirks and takes in my state of complete disarray. My hair is whipping around me, I can feel tendrils of it on my cheeks. My dress is exposing everything indecent. My heels are digging into the small of his back, my legs curled around him.
“Look at you, all sexy and undone just for me,” he whispers huskily, visually devouring me.
Shivering, I whisper, “What if I forgot how to do this?”
“Then I’ll just have to teach you what goes where. My tongue . . .” He rubs it over my top lip. “You see, my tongue goes here . . .” He eases it, wet and scalding, into my mouth. “My fingers like it here, where it’s warm and wet and clenching around me. Greedy for me.”
“Oh, Grey.” I rock my hips when he fingers me with one long, knowing finger.
“I have no problems teaching you. You have this beautiful, perfect cunt that was made for my cock. You’re not bedridden anymore, Melanie,” he murmurs between kisses, rubbing that finger deep inside me. “You’re very alive . . . as alive as you’ve ever been, those green eyes sparkling with life, this body pulsing for me. And this lovely bare * . . . .” he murmurs as he bends down . . . lower . . . and lower . . . and his head dives between my legs.
He flicks his tongue over my clit and pleasure rockets through me. He’s stroking a hand down my back while pulling my clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the sensitive flesh, playing with me.
I’m burning and I need him, need him desperately. I fist my hands on the back of his head, locking him against me by the hair.
Now I feel his lips nipping on my clit, lightly tugging, and my heartbeat gallops faster as he inserts two fingers into my *.
It’s been weeks, over three months . . . in the hospital; first the coma, then the rehabilitation. All this time, he was there for me. He was there for me when I woke, and there every time I fell asleep. My eyes sting as I feel an overwhelming desire to climax at the same time I feel an overwhelming need to make love to him.
“Grey!” I cry out, pulling him back by the hair.
He eases back and meets my gaze, straightening his black tie and smiling at me.
“I love you like this, all fucking hot and wet for me.” He slides his hips between my thighs and pulls me into his arms, raining kisses on my face as he embraces me in his thick, muscled arms.
My eyes drift shut. He’s hard against my bare *. Straining the zipper of his dress slacks. But I know he’s waiting for something special tonight. He’s been telling me how he craves to sink in me . . . lose himself in me . . .
So do I!
My * is still damp and gives a little squeeze at the thought of my guy, the only man I’ve ever loved, making love to me. Finally. After months of what feels like a whole life waiting. He’s told me he needs to make love to me without a condom. We’ve talked to the doctors, and I’m on low-dose birth control for a while. They mentioned it could only be for a little while because I’m also on long-term kidney transplant reject medication. But that’s okay. We will make use of these months like nobody’s business.
I’m so ready to feel him, to be with him . . . I didn’t want the party. I just wanted to come home and lie in bed with him. But Greyson can’t seem to get past the fact that he missed my twenty-fifth birthday and he’s making up for it in style.
He helps me arrange my dress, pressing one hot kiss on the top of my ear. “Ready?”
“I used to solve everything with a party. Sad? Party, girl. Mad? Party, girl. Bored? Just party, girl! How come it’s lost its old allure?” I scowl at him, then poke his hard chest with my finger. “It’s your fault, you know. The best parties now are the private ones with only you and me.” I slide down the railing and to my feet, my voice playful to hide the lust winding inside me. “Don’t look at my ass when I walk away.”
“Why, can you feel it?”
“Yes!” My limbs tremble as I head to the arched doors leading into the ballroom.
“Your princess looks fucking edible,” Derek says as he opens the door for me.
Greyson smacks the back of his head as he passes. “Apologize.”
Derek looks at me with a silver-toothed grin and I wave a hand in dismissal, laughing. “You’re forgiven.”
Greyson slaps the back of his head again. “Don’t think about her, don’t look at her, and definitely don’t tease her. That’s my fucking job.”