“Y-yes.”
“You don’t sound so sure.” This time, he slipped a hand inside the shirt, which had become miraculously unbuttoned, and grazed his knuckles over the slight swell of my breasts, making me shiver.
“You’re beautiful.”
I took a breath, though it was harder to inhale than usual. Likely because of the man in front of me, looking like I was a golden vision in his dreams.
My lungs filled, my heart rate picked up, my eyes … watered. What was wrong with me?
His breath was hot on my neck, his hands warm on my waist. I closed my eyes as he moved his mouth softly over my collarbones, brushing them with a feather-light touch. The reverence in it undid me.
I shivered. So did he.
He returned to my neck and moved my hair aside. Neck kisses. I saw this gif once of a guy kissing his lover’s neck, which I’d thought the most romantic thing ever, and I played it over and over. Something like a sixties’ French movie. This wasn’t that.
This was better.
I sighed and our mouths met like it was meant to be. We kissed for a while, exploring each other like we had all the time in the world. Just two kids necking at the lake. But soon, I started to ache. My breasts, my belly, my pussy. The kisses were perfect but not enough, yet Hatch was in no hurry. It was as if he’d found a missing piece from his existence and was determined to make every moment count.
I loved that, but also not. I was starting to feel hot and desperate. I needed to feel his skin against mine, his hardness against my softness. I needed it all.
I pulled at the hem of his shirt—I had to do it a couple of times for him to get the message. He drew back, his eyes wild, his lips puffy from my ravaging. I was topless while he still had his T-shirt on, and that would not do.
I pushed the shirt up and he finally understood.
The headlights of the car gave off enough light for me to see the perfection before me.
“Wow,” I whispered. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen that killer body, and I didn’t think I would ever tire of it.
His mouth kicked up at the corner, then his gaze dipped to my breasts. “Wow, right back.”
And you know what? I believed him. This wonderful man thought I was beautiful with my tiny breasts and my skeleton-bride frame. I gripped his arms, barely able to get my hands curled around the biceps, they were so thick.
I ran my palms over his pecs, enjoying the tickle of his chest hair. He felt so solid, so present, and it was all enhanced by how he looked at me. Truly saw inside me.
I shivered again.
“You cold?”
Not physically, but my mind had yearned for a connection this vital. “Warm me up, Hatch.”
He covered my body with his, careful not to apply his entire weight. Wrapped up in him, I let myself fall into pleasure. His mouth on mine, my hands on his back, chest to chest with his roughness abrading my nipples. His fingertips found my breast again, but now there was no barrier. He played with the sensitive peaks, using his thumb to tease and stroke.
Merely the appetizer to his tongue.
When his mouth closed over my breast, I almost arched off the hood. I moved my own hand down past the waistband of his shorts and squeezed one hard butt cheek. Moved around so I could undo the top button.
Then the zip?—
He left off from suckling my breast with a wet pop and met my gaze. “Nope.”
“But I want to.”
He smiled. “Not yet, Sunshine.”
But apparently those rules didn’t apply to him. Three seconds later, my zipper was down, and Hatch’s fingers were hovering over my panties. The ones he bought for me from his former fling.
As the kids might say, could we be any more complicated?
