“IswearI didn’t only come here for this,” she says again when it feels like her soul is finally anchored to her body again. His only answer is another chuckle. “But honestly, no one would blame me if I had.”
That he has an answer to. “Not done yet,” he insists and who the hell is she to contradict him?
Lazily she opens her eyes when he slides off the bed, and rolls to her side to watch him lift his shirt up over his head, his hair even more a wreck after what her hands did to it, and she lets out a snort.
“What?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow at her.
“Nice tan lines.”
He’s already got a very obvious farmer’s tan from his mid-bicep down and his chest is way paler than his face and neck.
“I could stop,” he mock threatens, eyes dancing at her. Bianca pulls her smile back and opens her eyes wide and innocent, so much so that he groans. “Shit, never do that again.”
“What?”
She doesn’t hear what he says under his breath; she’s too distracted as he finally shucks off his pants, boxer briefs tight against his hips and thighs, an outline of just how aroused he is clear across the front, and she sits up on the side of the bed, reaching for him, but he gently catches her wrist.
“You touch me right now and I’m going to lose it in five seconds,” he warns and takes another step back from her as he draws in a long, steadying breath. She bites her lip and he groans. “Shit, don’t do that either.”
Laughing, she covers her face with her hands. “Okay, how about this? Is this better?”
For a second and then another, there’s nothing, but then his hands cover hers and lift them away, cupping her face and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. It’s almost chaste, something exchanged at the end of a first date or as a tentative question, wondering if there’s a connection worth exploring, but they’re well beyond that now. Still, it’s sweet, to be kissed like this as his arms wind around her, lifting her just for a second to place her further onto the bed so he has room to join her, and she can’t help but smile against it.
“No more hiding,” he says simply when he pulls back, his smile matching hers. “Okay?”
“No more hiding,” she agrees.
The promise is real and deep and everything feels like it’s shifted into something different and wonderful and so heart-rendingly hot, she can barely catch her breath.
His hands, which know her so well now, move slowly, reverently over her heated skin while her mouth explores the hard planes of his chest, kissing whatever part of him is within reach while he moves himself over her, the sweet stretch of him inside of her both familiar and new.
Bianca revels in it, the feel of his breath against her cheek, how one hand falls to her hip to hold her steady, while the other gently reaches up to brush her hair out of her face, how his eyes meet hers, fierce and tender at the same time, holding himself back, waiting for her . . . just like he always has . . . just like he always will . . . if she lets him.
At her slow smile and nod, Xavier doesn’t waste time. She knows he’s close and, always the top of his class, he finds that spot again, the one that sent her spiraling the last time, still, his pace measured, creating the sweetest drag inside of her as she quickly catches up to him. Her mouth finds his shoulder as shetries desperately to anchor herself when her arms aren’t enough, and the feel of her teeth against his skin makes him lose his rhythm in the best possible way; their bodies collide and send her ricocheting into a mess against him.
She doesn’t know how long she falls, but when he starts to pull away, she shakes her head. “Stay with me. Stay.”
Xavier lets out a soft huff of a laugh that she feels down to her toes and everywhere in between. “You said that once before.”
“I meant it,” she whispers, “back then too. Stay with me?”
His hand spans her back, holding her close as he rolls them over. “I’ll stay,” he promises.
Tears prick at the corner of her eyes and she presses their foreheads together as she moves her hips in time with his. His arms wrap around her, warm and solid, their eyes locked together until he tenses against her, his hands falling to her waist, holding her to him as his body finally gives in.
When she finally lifts herself off him, there’s no awkwardness or fumbling or averted eyes. She just quickly moves to the bathroom, feeling his gaze follow her, and when she comes back a minute or two later, he’s right where she left him, sprawled on the middle of the bed, looking wrecked in the best possible way.
As she climbs in to join him, he lifts his arm and she falls naturally against his chest.
“They were,” he starts talking and she blinks up at him, confused for a second until he continues, “they were supposed to be there for you, not . . . not talk you into following me. I . . . I didn’t ask them to do that.”
“I know you didn’t,” she breathes out and she snakes an arm around his waist to hold him closer. “And they didn’t talk me into anything, not really.”
“You never do anything you don’t want to do,” he agrees. “They threw you the party?”
“Yeah, but . . . we never really got to the party part of it. I told them everything . . . turns out I didn’t have to. I should be really pissed at you, you know.”
He freezes, almost pulling away before she tightens her grip just a little.
