Page 82 of Crossed Wires: The Complete Series
Her confession wrapped around his soul. His heart. He stared at her. Wanted her. It was a predicament he had no solution for—she was a New York artist and he was an Australian cowboy. And despite being from completely different worlds, he wanted her. Loved her.
It was as simple as that.
“You know what I’m thankful for, Monet?”
She shook her head, her gaze never leaving his face.
He gave her a slow smile. “I’m thankful Annie and I got our wires crossed. I’m thankful she went to Australia and I came here. I’m thankful Qantas lost my luggage and took so bloody long to find it and I’m thankful I finally pulled my finger out and called my brother.”
Monet’s chest rose and fell on a shaky breath. “Because?”
Dylan straightened to his feet, rounded the coffee table and, with a gentle tug on her hand, drew Monet up to stand before him, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, chest to chest. “Because it means I can do this.” He lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers. “And this,” he murmured, a heartbeat before he slid his arms around her back and under her knees, scooped her off her feet and carried her to her bedroom.
He had no fucking clue what was going to happen after tonight, but he knew one thing beyond doubt. He was deeply in love with Monet Carmichael, and right now, he was going to make love to her.
The way he’d wanted to the moment he’d first laid eyes on her five days ago.
Chapter9
She should have stopped him from lowering her to her bed and undoing her fly with sure fingers. Stopped him from stretching on top of her and kissing her senseless.
She should’ve stopped him from exploring her mouth and lips with his tongue as his hand ran over her flesh to cup her sex, his fingertips stroking the seam of her pussy with gentle pressure.
Yes, Monet should have done all those things.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she planted her feet on the bed and shoved her ass off the mattress so she could wriggle her jeans over her hips, all the while continuing to kiss Dylan with a hungry greed she should be embarrassed by.
But she wasn’t. Because she couldn’t fight this anymore. And if Dylan’s hands on her body and his tongue in her mouth were anything to go by, neither could he.
Annie…
Her best friend’s name whispered through her mind. She moaned, part in guilt, part because Dylan’s fingers dipped into her sex and stroked the throbbing button of her clit.
Annie. You can’t do this to Annie.
Fresh guilt rolled through her, threading through the sheer pleasure of Dylan’s fingers in her pussy. Tainting it. She moaned again, this time from misery, and pressed her hands to Dylan’s chest, giving him a shove.
“We,” she panted against his lips, “we can’t, Dylan. Can’t do this to Annie.”
He lifted his head, and for a split second Monet’s breath caught in her throat at the raw desire in his green eyes. And then the corner of his mouth curled into a slow smile and her breath left her on a shaky whimper of utter want.
“Apparently Annie and my brother,” he murmured, teasing her clit with gentle pressure, “are doing their bit for foreign affairs.”
Monet gazed up into Dylan’s eyes, heart thumping a little harder at the way he’d stressed the wordaffairs. “Do you mean…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. What if she’d misunderstood?
Dylan gave her one slow nod. “I do, and they are. Which means I can do this…” He slipped one finger, then another into her sex. Deep into her sex. And wriggled them. “Without feeling like I’m a deceiving bastard.”
She hissed, arching her spine as ribbons of pleasure unfurled through her body.
“And this.” He lowered his head to explore the base of her throat with his lips.
“And this,” he murmured, withdrawing his hand from her wet pussy to inch her shirt over her belly, her rib cage, until he’d exposed her breasts to the room and captured her tight nipple with his teeth.
He nipped the pebbled tip of flesh, sucked on it through the silk of her bra and then nipped it again. Monet gasped, the squirming tension in her core escalating quickly. She pressed her thighs together, the ache inside her—the need for Dylan to finally fill her with his cock—almost overwhelming. There was no guilt anymore. No fear of being traitorous to her best friend. No self-doubt or disgust. With Annie and Dylan’s brother doing their own for the U.S.-Australia relationship, there was no reason for Monet to hold back on her desire for Dylan. Her response to Dylan.
And by the way Dylan was suckling her taut nipple, he wasn’t holding back anymore either.
