Page 83 of Roaming Holiday

He kisses my calf.

“Dreamed—”

My knee.

“Craved—”

He softly bites my inner thigh.

“Your skin?—”

He kisses my lower stomach, sending sparks up my center.

“Your taste?—”

I tremble when he drags the tip of his tongue from my navel to between my breasts.

“What you sound like when you take me.”

Wesley takes one of my nipples into his mouth, his fingers twirling and pinching the other. I moan as the ache between my legs intensifies, and I bite my lip to keep from whimpering. I need him now. If it didn’t feel so damn good, I’d push him onto the bed to speed this up.

“Wesley,” I whisper in the same desperate way I had that night in the kitchen. “Please.”

He looks at me, his expression as salacious as mine. “Please what?”

I nearly flick him in the forehead. Were the past two months of foreplay not enough? I grumble impatiently. “Eat me, fuck me, do something.”

He laughs, kneeling at the end of the bed and spreading my legs farther apart. I inhale sharply and grip the comforter when his tongue presses against my sensitive core. I let out another moan, my lungs tightening as his finger slides into me.

“So fucking wet,” Wesley mutters. His tongue flicks in a perfect rhythm that won’t take long to send me over the edge.

“Oh my god,” I whimper, my back arching off the mattress when he adds another finger. His free hand shoves me flat and clamps around my breast. He holds my eyes and hand through every twitch and sound I make, watching me fall back as he picks up the pace, wild and greedy. I buck my hips whenever his tongue hits the right spot and his fingers reach the innermost part of me.

I would do anything to bottle up this feeling, to never forget the sight of him between my legs as he works me through an orgasm. I’m not the most experienced person, but I have enough to recognize how fucking phenomenal he is. The fact that it’s Wesley, the man who holds my heart as if it was designed for him, makes it so much better.

As I catch my breath, he plants soft kisses up to my neck, whispering, “Until watching you come, I didn’t think you could be even more beautiful.”

Fabric brushes against my leg, and I realize he hasn’t even taken his pants off yet.

“Please tell me you have a condom,” I whine, wrapping my legs around him. He untangles from me and darts to the linen closet eagerly enough for me to laugh. I scoot to the headboard, noticing the wet spot I left behind. I bite the inside of my cheek. Whoops.

I watch the corded muscles of his back as he rifles through the closet. His phoenix tattoo spreads halfway down, flames encompassing the born-again creature.

Wesley returns with the condom, audibly cursing at the sight of me lounging among the pillows. I usually cower away from this type of scrutiny, but he looks at me like I’m artwork. His gaze falls when I spread my legs. He drops onto the bed, making to crawl toward me until I press my toes into his shoulder.

“Nuh-uh.” I gently push him back. “Strip.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I said”—I lean closer, my answer defiant—“strip.”

Given the fact that I’m entirely naked, it’s only fair. When he gets up, I settle into the pillows in preparation for my show. I scan from his bulge up to his eyes staring back at me as he unbuckles his belt. He unzips, and I reach between my legs to rub myself in circles.

Wesley stifles a groan. “You’re killing me, angel.”

The nickname, his coarse tone—lust stabs at my core again. Arousal coats my fingers as he slides off his pants before following it with his boxers. I bite my lip at the sight of him, large and ready.

I crawl down the bed toward him, rising onto my knees. He pulls me close, and I think back to the day he sat behind me on the moped—how I could feel him against me. My body aches with anticipation as I gently rake my nails across his hairy chest. I want him more now than I did then. He covers my hand with his own, kissing me before pulling my legs out from under me. I fall onto my back with a squeal, already reaching out for him again.

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