“You look freaking amazing,” he said vehemently.
He clearly felt that way, and it made her feel good. So good that she undid her denim shorts and started wiggling out of them. They were tighter than they’d been last summer, and all the tugging exasperated the breast-bounce problem. Chance’s jaw actually dropped and he rubbed his jaw.
“Holy hell, I have done nothing in my life to deserve what I just saw.”
She laughed. “Your turn.”
“To do what?” He sounded mystified.
“Take your clothes off.” She got her shorts and panties down to her ankles and artfully lifted them on one foot and tossed them in his direction.
Chance caught them and flipped them back over his shoulder. Then he tore his own shirt off and got down to business. When he descended on her breasts, pushing them together so he could shift back and forth, laving first one breast and then the other, she regretted taking her shorts off so soon. There was a deep ache building already and she needed a barrier, some kind of protection, so she could stay in control.
But the more he sucked, and soaked her flesh, and flicked his tongue across the taut buds, the more she started to think that there was nothing wrong with just lying back and letting herself go. He was still wearing his jeans and she clawed at the open zipper, wanting to feel him. He released his hold on her chest and pushed her hands away. But before she could feel disappointed, he was descending inch by glorious inch, kissing a path down her abdomen, over one hip bone and then the other. She lifted her hips in blatant invitation because she knew what he could do with his tongue, her clit, in three minutes or less, and it was not at the bottom of the list of things she had missed about him.
“Easy, now,” he told her. “I’ve been thinking…”
It was her turn to have her mouth fall open. But when she looked down and saw his mischievous smirk, she swore. “That was uncalled for.”
“See how annoying that is? Just sayin’.”
Stop thinking, she thought. Right. “Maybe if you put that tongue to better use, I’d stop protesting.”
It was the wrong thing to say. He grinned. “Really? If I go down on you, you’ll stop protesting? Challenge accepted.”
Jolene dropped her legs open. “Make me sing, Rivers.”
As Chance nestled between Jolene’s legs and ran his tongue along the flesh of her inner thigh, he had an epiphany. His sex life with Jolene had always been like their relationship—both tugging back and forth. He pushed, she pulled away, she reached out, he jumped back, then occasionally, in bed and writing music, they collided as one explosive dynamic team. It was their asset and their issue.
He wanted to try to create a new reality. One where they didn’t crash into each other, his rusted truck into her Cadillac, but instead melted together, like two different soft-serve ice cream flavors into one delicious combination. She already smelled like peaches and cream. He wanted to taste her and have her dissolve in his mouth. Which took time. So he teased down to her knee, pressed a kiss on the side of it, and trailed back up, skirting her sex. She made a soft sound of frustration and arched her hips forward.
Instead of holding her down, which was his usual maneuver, he eased up his grip on her and just explored her flesh, all her curves, the dip at her waist, the hill of her hip bone, the valley of her belly button. At first her muscles were tense, but the more he ran his lips over her skin, the more she relaxed. When he heard the first sigh as his fingers skimmed over her hip and rested softly on her backside, he felt undeniable satisfaction. Getting Jolene to meet him halfway suddenly felt more important than winning or holding on to his heart or saving face in the music industry. He wished he’d taken her to the bed instead of the couch. He’d use scented lotion and run his hands inch by inch over her body and feel the delineation of every muscle, drawing gooseflesh everywhere he touched.
But he didn’t want to suggest the move and break the spell weaving between them, one where her fingers teased through his hair and they both breathed deeply and just felt. For once they weren’t talking, singing, bickering, or banging. They were just together.