It’s more than okay. It’s a daydream come to life, an overwhelming storm of good sensations.
Her weight in my lap. The green apple scent of her hair. The way I can almost feel the vibration of Shelley’s voice as she speaks, her chest only a few inches from mine.
“My theory,” she says, “is that we’re both awkward and clumsy with this because we’ve never done this before, and we didn’t want to admit it. So we both messed up instead, snapping or ditching each other.”
Shelley’s blush deepens, but she holds my gaze. Steady and determined—a beautiful little warrior.
I nod, shaky. “Go on.”
“And I know these days we’re supposed to be, like, super experienced and impressive in bed and all that stuff, so maybewe’re both getting in our heads about this. Maybe we’re… maybe the stakes are so high, neither of us wants to mess up.”
All true for me so far. And as I nod along, the truth of what Shelley is saying hits me: that it’s all new for her too. She’s never done this before either. She’s untouched, inexperienced, having saved that experience for… well. For me.
Arousal floods my body, hot and urgent, and my cock is harder than iron where it presses against my suit fly. Where Shelley is perched, I can feel the answering damp heat of her core.
Yes.
Suddenly, my fears from earlier seem so ridiculous. So misplaced. Because now that I have Shelley alone, now that she’s sitting in my lap with her arms looped around my neck, I knowexactlywhat I want to do with her. There’s not an ounce of doubt or hesitation in my mind. And sure, maybe it won’t be the most polished performance, but I’ll make up for that with the boundless, primalhungerI feel for this woman.
I want to devour her.
Want to strip her naked, spread her over the dashboard, and eat her alive.
Want the glossy sheen of her arousal smeared across my chin.
And once I’ve made her come hard enough to wipe that final pinch of anxiety from her forehead, I want to sit Shelley down on my cock and urge her to ride me into oblivion.
“Interesting theory,” I say, running one palm up Shelley’s spine and grinning when she shivers. “But there’s only one way to know for sure.”
Seven
Shelley
You know, I’ve imagined making out with Dallas Adams in dozens of different ways, in hundreds of different places, but getting tangled up together on the driver’s seat of his truck, parked way out of the city on the edge of the rocky desert, is not somewhere I ever pictured.
It’s beautiful out here. Harsh and alien and wild, with thick clouds gathering overhead in a silent promise. Lightning flashes, strobing behind the clouds, and thunder rumbles, low and growling. The sun has slipped away again, the daylight dimming.
We barely notice. We’re too wrapped up in each other, desperate and moaning between kisses, the truck windows fogging all around us.
The driver’s seat creaks loudly as Dallas leans back, tugging me with him, encouraging me to sprawl over his magnificent chest. He’s so freakingsculptedunder these fancy weatherman clothes—it’s like laying on top of a living marble statue.
And he’s hardeverywhere.My breath catches when I feel it, my hips instinctively grinding down.
“Ngh,” Dallas says, gripping a handful of my hair and tugging playfully. “Fuck. That feels good.”
Yeah. It really, really does. Turns out that pining after someone for six months, dreaming of them every night in bed, memorizing their face and voice and figure… that doesn’t automatically mean that the real thing will pale in comparison to those fevered daydreams.
Not when the real thing is Dallas Adams, sexy weatherman extraordinaire.
Sometimes the real thing is even better.
“Shelley,” Dallas mutters now, trailing hot kisses up my throat and pausing to nibble on my earlobe. Molten heat twists in my belly, and I whimper, squirming on his lap. “Shelley. God, you have no idea how much I’ve wanted this.”
Oh, I really think I might.
“Your hair,” I mumble, incoherent. My fingers weave through the thick, dark strands of his hair, twisting and tugging. It’s surprisingly soft and bouncy, and it smells faintly of fennel. “Your glasses, Dallas. Yourchin.”
He laughs, low and rich as molasses. And when the weatherman steals my lips, kissing me deep and long, all the nerve endings in my body tingle. I whimper, clinging on to his shirt for dear life and kissing him back.
