Page 46 of Insta-Love

“Would it be totally inappropriate to skip the teenage make-out session and take you to the bedroom?”

“I’m game for it.”

A growl erupts from deep in his chest as he carries me through the doorway, and down the darkened hall. My heart ricochets off my ribcage, the tenacity undoubtedly obvious to him as it thunders a beat between us.

I watch my fingers where they curl around the swell of his shoulders, tracing down to his enormous biceps. The guy never ceases to amaze me with his size; my fingers don’t even manage to span hallway around the thickness of his arm.

We cross through what I can only assume is his bedroom doorway, given I face backward. Bowen buries his face against my neck, his lips a brand against my skin as my legs knock the bed.

We tumble to the mattress as one, Bowen managing to pull off some miracle as he stops himself short of crushing me whilst keeping my body flush against his.

He pushes up on one arm, muscles strained under his weight, and smiles reverently at me. “I really don’t want to fuck this up with you.”

“I don’t think you could.” I hook both feet behind him, digging into that tight arse with my heels.

He sighs out his nose, but the grin he wears as he drops over me once more tells me it’s all in fun.

I forget it all.

As he threads his fingers in my hair, holding my head captive between his massive hands while he kisses me, not one of my previous insecurities crosses my mind. Not the extra weight I carry around my middle. Not the highlights in my hair that so obviously grow out. Not the lack of any real makeup other than a bit of foundation and mascara.

He doesn’t care.

And I love that.

My back arches off the bed when he trails lower. Hi grip is rough, and unforgiving as he takes my breast in hand, lips leaving a hot trail in their wake. I haven’t laid with a an in years, and the last time I did, fuck, it didn’t feel like this.

I couldn’t wait to leave back then.

Now I dread the thought of this ever ending.

Bowen pushes the hem of my shirt higher as he reaches my stomach, exposing the soft flesh of my abdomen. He adorns my caesarean scar with kisses, teasing when he hooks his finger in the top of my shorts and pulls it as low as the taut waist will allow.

“Last chance.”

I snort, most un-lady-like, let alone sexy. “You think I’d stop this?”

His hands dive beneath me, and before I can comprehend what’s happening, I’m tossed across the mattress as though my hundred and seventy-pound arse weighs nothing.

I’m suddenly all too aware exactly how wet I’ve become as I watch this wall of muscle crawl on to the bed between my legs.

Oh, God. Just do me now. I seriously can’t take another second of this foreplay bullshit. I need what he intends to give, and I need it now.

“Tell me if I’m too rough,” he grits out, fingers already making light work of my shorts.

Far out. Make it rough. Make it damn near brutal. I’ve got a few years to make up for, a few too many sexual frustrations that need exorcising from my system. “Sure.”

I plant my feet firmly on the bed and lift my hips to help him strip my shorts. He peels them off each leg, one by one, and flings them aside with enough orce that I’m in no doubt I’m not the only impatient one.

I decide to get started on my shirt while he lifts one of my legs and kisses a trail down my calf, and across my inner thigh.

I can’t discard the fabric quick enough. I want to see this. I need to see this to remind myself it really happens.

I actually have a man worthy of a Vegas strip show between my legs.

It’s finally happened. I’ve died in my sleep and gone to heaven.

I can’t find one reason to feel bad about it when his mouth hits my pussy. “Oh, God. Yes,” I groan.

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