I rested my palms against his chest. “We both messed up. I only want the truth with you.”
“We can go slow,” he hummed into my neck, and I rolled my head to the side to give him better access to my sensitive skin. “If you want to, I mean. We don’t have to jump into anything tonight. If you want to wait until the story is done, I get that. I want us to be for a long time.”
We were still fully clothed, standing in the living room of his apartment, but we were bare. Our secrets were out, and even though nothing was solved or figured out, I loved how Wes held me. We were in this together. I arched into him, pulling his face to mine. “I want us, and I don’t want slow.” The room was quiet except for our heavy breathing.
“Can we talk about work later, then? Because I need to kiss you again.” Wes’s fingers threaded into my hair. “You’re perfect,” he said, his voice husky. His lips and tongue were playing over mine, insistent. Wes kissed me like I was the only woman in the world.
“More,” I moaned, then added with a smile, “A little further. Dig deep. Keep breathing.”
His laugh against my neck somehow intensified the heat and tension that were coursing through me. “Such a demanding coach.” His kisses were making the sensitive area along the side of my neck vibrate with need. I’d never known I needed to be kissed there. This is going to happen.
“You’ll thank me later.” I pressed my own hands against the hard plane of his chest, roaming the way I’d wanted to for so long. We stumbled down the hall, pulling his shirt from his pants and tangling with the buttons.
“Pretty sure I’ll thank you now.” As we made our way into the bedroom, he fumbled with the zipper to my dress. We gave up trying to claw at each other, and he pulled off his shirt, baring his chest. I dragged my fingertips down his abs, stroking the ridges. His muscles rippled under my touch, and I admired the defined cut of his body disappearing into his pants, the fine smattering of hair below his belly button.
He watched my fingers trace over his muscles before pushing my dress down my shoulders, the material falling to the floor. His hands traveled down my body, and back and forth over my ass, then up my spine and sides, fingers searching. He pressed his lips to my neck. “How do I get this off you?”
My Spanx. I would never second-guess myself again.
“Oh, God,” I muttered, pulling back. “I forgot I was wearing this. Just—um—give me a minute.” I stepped back, turning away and attempting to peel it over my hips with even a tiny modicum of grace. I felt like I was uncasing sausage, and I rethought my earlier girl-power stance on this body shaper slip, because as sexy as it made me feel in that dress, taking it off was another story.
Wes stepped forward, his hands sweeping over my hips from behind as he dropped kisses on my shoulder.
“What are you . . . doing?” I huffed, still trying to get the thick fabric over my belly.
“Helping.” He stroked the indentations left by the garment on my thighs and took over the pulling. He spoke against my neck, the breath caressing my skin. “Why are you wearing this, anyway?”
“To look hot in my dress,” I said with a huff, still pulling and wiggling.
“You look hot in everything you wear. You didn’t need this.” Wes’s lips grazed my neck. “Do you know how much torture it was to hear you say you wanted to look good naked when I was positive you already did?” He helped me pull the shaper over my boobs, where it got stuck for a moment, leaving my arms raised over my head, the shaper clinging to them.
From inside my cocoon of spandex, I worried I might have to cut the thing off and wondered whether it was too early to suggest bringing scissors into the bedroom.
“It’s stuck.”
“Let me just . . .” We pulled and twisted, and I was laughing again when it slid over my head, probably leaving my hair a wild mess.
“Sorry,” I said, tossing the traitorous thing to the floor.
“Don’t apologize for less clothing.” He met my smile, his hands traversing my bare belly, my back, down my spine to massage my backside, and then up. “You always make me laugh, Britta.” He kissed me again, lips exploring as he cupped my breasts, kneading while his kiss kept me planted in place, his thumbs rubbing over my nipples with just the right balance of speed and pressure, mixing it up just enough to keep me anticipating his next stroke.
“That’s not my goal when I’m in my underwear, Wes.” I unbuckled his belt, and he let me take over, pushing his pants over his muscled thighs to reveal black boxer briefs, the fabric bulging and misshapen.
He followed my movements, gaze flicking between my hand and my chest. “I fell in love with you when you made me laugh,” he murmured.
I froze and my eyes flashed to his, the light from the city below giving the room a soft glow. “What?”
“You heard me.” He held my gaze, his eyebrows lifting slightly before he pushed his briefs down, his thick erection springing free.
“Did I?” A hundred dirty thoughts flashed in my head because Oh. My. God.
He climbed on the bed, pulling me down to the mattress with him. Wes smelled like soap and Scotch, and I inhaled the oddly satisfying combination while sliding my fingers through the smattering of chest hair and tracing the hard muscle of his abdomen. His words still hung in the air, and his lips met my neck again, while he reached behind me to unsnap my bra. Tossing the material aside, he held my breasts reverently, rolling my nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re quiet,” he said against my skin, before trailing his lips down, dotting tiny kisses in circles around my nipples before taking one into his mouth. His tongue paused, and he let his mouth hover over my sensitive, peaked flesh. “Is this okay?”
A whimper escaped my lips as I nodded. I expected it to feel weird being naked with him, to have him see me—all of me—but it felt like the most natural thing in the world. “You said . . .” I trailed off, lost in the pleasure of his tongue.
He took my other nipple in his mouth, his free hand sliding over my belly and easing my thighs apart.
My head fell back with the wave of sensations from his tongue and fingers, the anticipation as he stroked the insides of my thighs and then the wet fabric between my legs. “Do you want my fingers here?”
When I nodded, he dragged his knuckle back and forth, creating the most delicious friction. I’d dreamed and fantasized about how that friction would feel, but my imagination didn’t do him justice.
His tongue whorled around my nipple again, and he slid his fingers inside my panties to stroke my wet folds before pulling the fabric down my thighs. My nipple came away from his lips with a pop, and he took the other into his mouth. I bucked against his hand, shameless. I cried out, squirming, wanting more, wanting everything. I ran my hand roughly through his hair. “You said you . . .”
His fingers were long, but his strokes were gentle. I was aware of every moment and lost in his heat at the same time. Wes’s thumb circled my clit before one long finger dipped back into me with aching restraint, again and again.
All thought left me. This is how I go out. I’m dying. I’m dead.
Pops of color flashed, and sensations overtook me—he pressed against my walls, his thumb teasing, his mouth on me. I was so ready. My body rose, and heat gathered low in my belly. Still, his words circled me.
“You said,” I panted again, meeting his eyes.
“I said,” he repeated, sliding a second finger inside me, stretching me and pressing against the tight bundle of nerves. His expression was hooded, the intensity in his eyes flashing when my body reacted to the new sensation. “I fell in love with you.”
I cried out, so close to exploding under his touches. I met his fingers with my hips, seeking more, wanting just a little more to push me over the edge.
He thrust his fingers faster, his thumb against my clit and his words in my ear. “I’m in love with you.”