Awaterfall.
In the middle of the city, there’s a waterfall, like the scene’s been set for us. It’s perfect.She’sperfect.
When did I get thisromantic?
Slowly walking Ebony toward valet, I ask, “You okay with getting a little wet?”Jesus, that sounded better inmy head.“I meant to kiss—”
“Yes,” she says again, surprising me.
And now, suddenly, I’m overthinking everything. Did I mean the rain, or our makeshift waterfall? Yeah. But would I absolutely be on board with any activity in which my participation involved making her wet? Hell yes.
But what didshethink I meant?
She glances down the street, looking both ways like she’s making sure it’s safe to cross this line before she finishes what I started, stepping backward until she’s against the wall, water streaming over her like she’s my personal wet dream.
“Jesus, Ebony.”
In a single stride, I erase the distance between us, flattening one palm on the side of her face and brushing the pad of my thumb over her lower lip with the other. “All day, I’ve been thinking about these lips.”
She sets her hands free on my stomach, then weaves them to my back, tugging me closer. “So, kiss me already,” she purrs.
I lean in and drag my lips over hers, curling my fingers into the fabric of her dress. I sink into the sensation of us, drenched in uncensored desire.
There’s no one out here. Nothing stopping us this time. The thought alone makes my dick hard. Ebony deserves to be kissed properly, as long and hard as she wants.
I thrust my hips, using my weight to pin her against the wall, sucking along her neck and behind her ears until she’s breathless and panting.
Her hands are on my back, her nails digging into my skin. Her chest swells, andJesus… She kicks her leg through that damn slit, hooking it over my hip, and I don’t know whether to freeze or fuck her raw as she writhes against me in—
I gasp as my hand glides up her thigh, then I pull back to meet her gaze.
“Ebony, where is your underwear?”
Those bruised lips part. “Baby, you can’t wear a dress like this and have panty lines. It’s like serving a five-star meal on a paper plate.”
Suddenly, I can’t breathe.
Or move.
Not only is she soaking wet in a dress that’s hanging on by a thread, but her leg is wrapped around my hip, my hand is mere inches from heaven, and I’ve got no condoms.
I’monly supposed to be kissing her.
I close my eyes, uncertain of my next move and mortified even as the words slip out. “We can’t.” My voice comes out strained, understandably. “Anyone could see us here.”
She leans forward until our noses touch and looks me dead in the eye as she says, “Right now, I’m so horny, I don’t give a damn who sees us. It’s been over a year.” Then she runs her tongue along the tip of my nose and slowly traces it down to my lower lip before she gives a soft bite.
I almost come.
By some otherworldly miracle, my brain remembers it controls my motor skills. Through sheer adrenaline and determination not to fumble ten years of riding the bench, I step back.
“Ebony, you can’t say things like that to me. I’m telling you…I’ve wanted this too long. We can’t even mess around because I don’t have a condom. Iwon’tbe able to stop—”
“Idon’t care,” she counters, yanking me back to her, kissing me breathless.
It’s like a green light shining, but my instincts are wildly waving red flags. Then an idea floats to the surface of my mind.
Just in case, I scan the street and realize we’re in a service alley. Dark, wet—as established—and completely deserted. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t offer a little…service?
