Page 94 of Cross the Line
I drag the soaked material down her legs. ‘So wet already,’ I murmur. My cock is aching, but this is all about her. This is all I want.
‘Just what you do to me,’ she pants, inching closer. ‘Touch me, please.’
How could I resist such a sweet plea?
Dropping to my knees, I push her glittering skirt over her hips, revealing her to me. I palm her ass, pulling her closer as I lean in, tracing her slit slowly with my tongue. She tastes like everything that makes life worth living.
The moan that escapes her is the filthiest thing I’ve ever heard, like she’s been on edge the whole time we’ve been apart, waiting for me to touch her. And now, judging from the way her hips buck forward, she’s done being patient.
I close my lips over her clit and suck, earning another shuddered sound of pleasure. Her back arches, and her hands hover over my head. She wants to touch me, to grip my hair. She’s barely resisting the urge, lest she smudge the paste staining her skin. I don’t want it to budge. I want it to darken to the deepest brown so I can trace the lines and swirls and flowers for weeks to come. Her skin is already the most beautiful canvas; it deserves unmarred art.
But I have no problem corrupting the rest of her.
I glide the tips of my fingers over her folds as I greedily devour her, her skin slick and scorching, and I take what I want. I slip one finger into her first, relishing the way her walls flutter around me. Then I add a second, eliciting another heavenly sound. She practically chants my name, begging for more, grinding against my face like a woman possessed.
‘Dev, please,’ she whines.
I glance up and take in the sight of her head thrown back and her hands lifted as if in prayer. I choose to believe she’s praying to me.
‘I’m . . . I’m . . .’
Pulling back slightly, I murmur, ‘Let go, baby.’ And then my tongue is back on her clit and my fingers are curling up, working inside her to bring her all the way to that peak.
She crests it with a loud moan. I keep my mouth pressed to her as she rides it out, still tasting her, slowing my movements until she goes limp against me. With soft kisses to her inner thighs, I slip my fingers out of her, pleased with the way they glisten under the fluorescent lights.
‘I’ve wanted to do that for days,’ I say, sitting back on my heels and dragging the back of my hand across my mouth. I grin wickedly up at her. ‘Too bad you didn’t let me when I snuck into your house.’
She watches me with a look somewhere between smitten and annoyed. Like she’s torn between telling me she loves me and kicking me in the face. ‘If you’d done that,’ she says, chest heaving and breaths laboured, ‘there’s no way this would still be a secret.’
She’s right. My girl is loud and wild when she finally lets go, and I’d never want to hold her back.
Her eyes go wide then. ‘Oh god, you don’t think anyone heard us, do you?’
I shake my head. ‘With the music that loud? I’d be amazed if anyone out there could hear themselves think.’
She drops her shoulders and exhales, and I soothe her with a kiss to the inside of her knee. Then I rearrange her skirt, letting it fall back to her ankles, turning her back into the picture of decency – minus the missing panties and the glow in her cheeks.
‘Soon we won’t have to keep this such a secret,’ I promise. ‘Two more days.’
‘Two more days,’ she repeats breathlessly.
And they’re going to be the longest days of my life.
CHAPTER 29
Willow
Dev smudged my mehndi.
It’s not particularly noticeable, but I know why the lines on my fingertips aren’t as sharp as they could be or why the flower on my wrist looks a bit more like an invasive weed. It’s our little secret – just like our relationship will be for one more day.
I haven’t seen him since last night. He’s been busy with religious ceremonies and lunches with his grandparents all morning and afternoon, but I’ve been counting down the hours until the start of the garba. According to the clock on the bedside table, we’re only an hour away. I’m so excited I could scream.
To distract myself, I called Grace and Chantal for pep talks and filled them in on all that’s happened over the past several days. I’ve steamed both my lehenga and my mom’s for tonight. I’ve washed, deep conditioned, straightened and styled my hair. I’ve repainted my nails to match the emerald green of my outfit. I even went for a long walk on the beach like some sort of cliché. I’m just so ready to see Dev.
After helping my mom get ready in my parents’ room, I make my way back down to the first floor where my bedroom is. The Andersons truly went all out for this wedding. This house – and the two others – is a testament to that. It’ll probably take some time to adjust when I go back to New York because my entire apartment could fit into the living room here.
Not wanting to think about going back to the city, I push the thought away. I love New York and I always will, but I’m not ready to return to the life it represents. Giving up this whirlwind that I’ve grown so fond of over the past few months will be tough, and staying in one place rather than hopping on a plane to a new city nearly every week seems so . . . dull. Boring. Grey.
