I need to stop this. I need to walk away and never come back. He’s the reason I left, all those years ago.
He reaches a finger out and, so gently, plucks a lock of hair from my collarbone. And then he touches my skin.
The fire is immediate, radiating through my body. I try to stand still, but find myself wavering on my feet. I draw in a heavy breath, hardly able to hold it before I gasp it out. My body crackles with electricity, crying out for more.
His finger trails lazily down to the neckline of my barely-there tank, stopping at the lacy edge. He flirts with the fabric, his eyes never leaving mine. “This ain’t happening,” he breathes.
I try to nod, but our eyes are locked, those endless pools drawing me in. His breath, warm and sweet, flowers between us, making me woozy. I’m in a dream, where every inch I try to move away just pushes me toward him. “So stop it,” I murmur.
Before I can protest any more, he swoops his mouth down upon mine, making every last bit of breath I have die inside me. His mouth consumes mine feverishly, his tongue claiming me as if he’s owned me all this time.
On thing he’s never lacked is confidence, and I surrender control immediately. His tongue explores my mouth wildly and unstoppably, and his hands are on my body, roaming up my ribs then molding my breasts. “Fuck it,” he growls into my mouth, tweaking my nipple through the thin fabric of my camisole. “Ah, fuck it, Katie, you feel so good.”
His tongue trails down my jawline, and his fingers play on the strap of my camisole, lowering it below my ribs so that my breasts spring free. He cups them in his hands and slides down, planting devouring kisses on my breastbone. I arch my head back and cry out as he pushes me against the wall, his tongue licking its way across the sensitive nub of each breast.
I press my back against the wall, my back arching toward his body. I’ve never felt anything like this before. I’ve never had anyone kiss my breasts before. I tangle my fingers in his thick hair, pressing his open mouth harder on my skin, wanting more. Wanting everything he has to give. A warm, aching sensation is building between my thighs, getting ready to explode. “Oh,” I moan. “Oh, god, Dax.”
He breaks from my skin, and I’m suddenly cold where his mouth has been. Eyes heavy-lidded and full of fire, he looks around the garage.
“Come on,” he says gruffly, taking my hand and guiding me to the office. It’s more enclosed in here, so we’re not on display in the windowed garage. He looks around the cramped room but there isn’t anything other than the tiny desk and a whirring soda machine. He leads me to the desk and pushes aside the pencil jar and the blotter. Then he guides me against it so that I’m sitting at its edge and plants himself in front of me, then covers my mouth with his.
I run my hands down to his waist and lift the hem of his t-shirt out of his jeans. I need to be closer to him.
Obliging me, he helps me remove his t-shirt, and I’m greeted with the most jaw-dropping chest I’ve ever had the pleasure to see. He’s gotten a few more tattoos, and he’s bulked up, and there’s just a little more dark hair over his pectorals. Oh good Lord, I feel faint.
“You okay?” he asks, as I grip the edges of the desk to steady myself.
I nod, still dazed and scared but so damn hot. I need him. I need this. I’m like a kid in a candy store, unsure where to go first. His skin is so hot as my lips touch the tattoo of a four-leaf clover over his shoulder, I expect to see steam radiating from it.
His hands move around my waist, lifting the hem off my camisole up over my head.
Before, we’d made out and fumbled around under our clothing, but that’s as far as it went. I’d always been self-conscious about my small chest, too, so I usually pushed his hands away and put a stop to things. But now, I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. I’ve been thinking of this for four years. And maybe I am getting more mature because at this point, I don’t care. I want to feel his skin against mine.
He casts aside my camisole and gazes at me hungrily. I suck in a breath, feeling an unsure pang of nervousness, but before it can fully materialize, he cups my breast in his hand and brings the nipple to his mouth, sucking it, is tongue working circles on it. I toss my head back and gasp.
He gently nudges me back on the desk. “You’re so fucking sweet, Katydid,” he murmurs into my skin, reaching for the snap of my cutoffs as he trails kisses down to my abdomen. His fingers find it and expertly work the button, and I feel the fabric loosening. “I need to taste all of you.”
My breath comes out all uneven. The thought of him tasting me has my body trembling all over with desire and . . . fear. The two emotions are doing a dance inside of me, each vying for top position. This is huge. I think of how long I’ve imagined and wanted this, wanted Dax above me, fucking me, and without warning, the fear pulls the upper hand.