Page 75 of Mistaken Intention

“I know. Do you like it?”

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, I do.”

“Okay… now tell me what you want.”

“I want to be yours.”

I brush my lips over hers. “Would you be surprised if I told you, you already are?”

“I am?”

“Yes. There’s no way I’m letting you go. You’re mine, Josie. But what I meant when I said we don’t have to do anything was I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as you need, if…”

“No. Please, Drew,” she says, clinging to me. “Don’t let me think. Don’t give me time to change my mind. Just…”

“Just what?”

“Just take me.”

A low growl escapes my lips as I crush them against hers. She’s right. Now is not the time for thinking. It’s the time for doing, and I reach down, finding the hem of her t-shirt and pull it up, breaking the kiss to yank it over her head. She’s wearing a white lace bra, but I pause, leaning back slightly.

“Your turn,” I say.

“To do what?” She stares up at me, her face a potent mix of innocence and longing.

“Take off my t-shirt.”

“Is this how it’s done?” she asks, putting her hands behind me and pulling it up my back.

“I don’t know. But it’s how we’re doing it.”

She tugs further and I help her slightly, leaning forward so she can pull my t-shirt over my head. She drops it to the floor beside hers, her eyes raking over my chest, her teeth nipping at her bottom lip.

“That’s sexy,” I murmur.

“What is?”

“When you bite your lip like that.”

“What does it make you wanna do?” she asks.

“This…” I dip my head and gently nibble on her bottom lip. She leans against me, moaning softly. There’s still a barrier between us, though, so I reach behind her, unfastening her bra, and pull the straps down, letting it fall to the floor beside us. I pull her close again, feeling her soft skin against mine.

It’s too much… and yet I need more.

I pull back, bending down to flick my tongue across her hardened nipple, cupping her other breast as she shudders, moaning loudly.

“Oh, Drew… that’s so good.”

I reach between us, unfastening her jeans, and pulling down the zipper. Her panties feel as though they’re made of the same delicate lace as her bra, and I delve inside, leaning back and standing to stare down at her.

“You’re shaved?”

“Yes,” she says. “Is that okay? Do you prefer women to be…?”

I shake my head, and she stops talking, blinking, gazing up at me. “I don’t know what I prefer, and I don’t care. What matters is, you feel perfect.” I kiss her, my fingers circling over her swollen clit. She squeals and bucks against me. “Easy, baby. There’s no rush.”

“But it feels so good.”

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