Page 121 of One Wealthy Wedding

“Yes, oh,” he teases. I think he’s going to pull away, but his lips hover over mine. His breaths are gentle and not enough.

Not even close.

If I kiss Theo now, it’s not for show. There’s no one watching. I want it. I want him in a way that nineteen-year-old me couldn’t have fathomed. Back then, I wanted to touch his biceps and admire the way his back flexed when he walked. Now, I want his soft mouth and his punishing lips and the way his teeth scrape against my skin. I want him brutal and unyielding and forcing me against the pool deck.

I press my lips to his before I can chicken out.

It’s our first kiss all over again. His mouth warms mine as he slides his tongue along the seam of my lips. I open, and he pulls my bottom lip into his mouth. He tastes like salt and like Theo. Little shivers zip through me as we kiss, and he bands me to him. Theo isn’t a quiet kisser. A sound of enjoyment rumbles up from his chest as my tongue meets his. Heat flares under my skin. I need more of him. I twine my arms around his neck and open more for him. He squeezes my waist in approval as he deepens the kiss.

It’s still not enough. I tug on his hair, and he breaks the kiss to laugh. “Want more?” I try to capture his laugh with my mouth, and the pleased sound he makes vibrates through me.

He pulls me flush to his body as he hardens against me. Just like he did on that summer day at the lake. And just like then, the feel of his erection pressing into me makes me feel warm and fluttery and alive.

Shivers of desire zip up my spine, between my legs. I want to climb him. I want to let him spread me on the sun deck and push into me. He’s kissing me like he’d rather kiss me than breathe, and I love it. My belly swoops and dips with each slide of my tongue against his.

I want more. My hands drop to the waistband of his shorts, right as he breaks the kiss to drag his tongue up my neck. “Fuck, Cat,” he mutters, as I dip my fingers under the elastic. He’s hot and hard, and I want to push his shorts down, but his hand on my waist tightens, and he walks us back to the edge of the pool before I get a chance. I didn’t even realize we’d touched the bottom.

“What else is on the list?” he asks. His eyes meet mine. They’re wild. His breathing is ragged.

The list. Right.

I think if I told him that there was nothing left on the list, he might take me in the pool anyway.

My brain flicks through each item—learn to give a really good blowjob, try anal, public sex, have multiple orgasms.

“Multiple orgasms,” I say.

Theo looks briefly stunned but quickly recovers. “So you’re asking me to give you multiple orgasms? Just so we’re clear?”

“Not if you’re going to be smug about it,” I mutter. “You make—”

He silences me with a hard kiss, cupping my jaw and pushing me into the tile like he did in the pool the other night. My annoyance melts, turning into liquid heat inside me.

He pulls back. “I have thought of nothing but giving you multiple orgasms for the past two weeks. Get on the edge.” He’s already hoisting me up before I have a chance to respond. He’s breathing heavily, but he undoes the ties of my bathing suit with steady hands. The suit falls off into the water, and he stills. I’m bared to him, pinned by his hand between the tile and his mouth. I squirm as he looks, studying me like he’s deciding how to devour me.

“Theo—”

His face is intent. “Don’t say anything. Just—” He nips at my thigh, and I watch the tattoo on his neck flex. “Let me do this.”

I nod shallowly. Theo’s head is between my legs before I can blink. The first touch of his tongue makes me gasp. It’s warm and wet, and so deliciously perfect against me. He drags the flat of it over my clit before he pushes my thighs wider with a noise of frustration. It’s right on the edge of being uncomfortable, with the tile against my shoulders and my ass on the concrete and my thighs spread wide. He pins me there with one broad hand. I’m at his mercy, and I love it.

I love the sounds he makes as he keeps a steady rhythm with his tongue. I love the feel of his shoulders, warm and smooth under my hands. He’s building an orgasm slowly, circling his tongue, then pulling away, parting me with one finger, but not pushing in. Lick by slow, delicious lick, until I’m panting and desperate on the edge of the pool for him.

“Theo, please.” My voice is strangled.

He pushes one finger inside me in answer, the stretch delicious and not enough. He circles it. In and out, slow and torturous, like he has all day to make me come. I might die first. I’m a cup filled near to overflowing, and I so badly want to spill over the edge.

He licks, I moan.

He sucks my clit into his mouth, and I shake.

He pushes a second finger inside me, flicks his tongue just right, and I explode. My head drops back and the pleasure spreads like shockwaves through my body. I clench around his fingers, over and over, not caring that I’m squirming and shaking and moaning something unintelligible.

He tongues me through the orgasm, and when I open my eyes, he’s watching me with undisguised masculine satisfaction.

“Proud of yourself, are you?” My voice comes out weak.

“Get on the lounge chair,” he responds.

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