Page 20 of Misbooked for Love

I shake my head, my own breath ragged. “It’s not. I want this, I want you.”

The admission feels big, too big, but it’s the truth. I want him, every messy, complicated part of him. And for tonight, and maybe the rest of this trip, that’s enough.

We move together, our bodies finding a rhythm that feels natural, like we’ve done this a thousand times before. His hands are firm on my hips, guiding me, and I can feel the tension building between us, a tight coil ready to snap.

I kiss him again, deeper this time, pouring every ounce of need into it, and he responds with a fervor that takes my breath away. It’s all heat and urgency, a clash of lips and tangled limbs, and I can’t get enough.

Tom’s fingers slide under the hem of my dress, skimming the skin of my thighs, and I shiver at the contact, leaning into his touch. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before—this mix of tenderness and desire, of wanting and being wanted.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers, his voice low and gravelly in my ear, and my cheeks flush. I should be embarrassed, but instead, I feel empowered. Brazen,even. This is what it’s like to be with someone who truly sees you, I realize. “Fuck.”

He slides a finger inside me, and I moan, arching my back and pressing myself against him. Tom’s touch is reverent, slow, like he’s exploring every inch of me, memorizing the way I feel, the way I taste. I cling to him, my nails digging into his back as the sensations building within me grow stronger, more insistent.

“Tom,” I gasp out, my voice barely above a whimper, and he groans in response, his pace quickening. Heat pools between my thighs, and I know I’m close, so close.

Tom’s kisses trail down my neck, over my collarbone, and over my breasts as his other hand slides up my waist, tracing a path up my chest, sending shivers down my spine. His touch is electric, making me feel alive in a way I never have before. My body responds to his touch unpredictably, writhing under him as he circles his hips, thrusting his fingers deeper and harder. I grip his shoulders tightly, my nails digging into his skin as I try to hold on to this feeling; it’s as if I’m flying above the surface, no landing in sight.

My breath hitches when I feel a second finger glide effortlessly into my core, stretching me further than I thought possible. He cups one of my breasts over my dress, his thumb rubbing gently over my nipple, sending sparks of pleasure throughout my body.

“You like that?” Tom rasps, his breathing heavy in my ear.

I cry out, arching my back, begging for more. He answers by thrusting his fingers in and out of me in a rhythmic motion, drawing out my pleasure until it’s all-consuming.

My breath comes in ragged gasps as I feel myself spiraling towards the edge. And then, with one final hard push, I’m overcome. I scream Tom’s name as my body shudders with the force of my orgasm, my walls gripping his fingers tightly as if they’re all that’s keeping me grounded.

Panting heavily, I collapse against him, feeling boneless and unsure of what just happened. But he isn’t done yet. He lifts me up in his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist and flying up the stairs until we’re in the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind us. He lays me down gently on the bed, and before I can gather my thoughts, he’s kissing me again, his lips demanding and possessive.

And they are everywhere—my neck, my shoulders, the curve of my hip—and I arch into him, my hands roaming over the expanse of his toned back, feeling the flex of muscle under my touch. I want to memorize every inch of him, every sigh and shudder, every whispered “Clara” that slips from his lips.

14

TOM

She returns my kiss,matching my intensity, and I strip off my clothes, revealing my body. Her eyes widen and her gaze moves, from my stomach to my eyes and then back down to my erection, hard and angry and ready for her.

She bites her lower lip, and I can’t help but groan. I slide my hand up her thigh, and she shivers again. Her skin is soft, silky.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” I breathe, my voice husky with desire. I can’t take my eyes off her splayed form, her beauty, her curves. I need to explore every inch of her, to memorize her, etch her into my flesh.

With infinite patience, I trail my fingertips up her thigh, over her hip, and then ever sogently, I brush the side of her breasts as I remove her red dress. She arches her back, pressing into my touch.

“Tom,” she moans, her voice raw with need.

“Clara,” I whisper into her skin, and then I’m on her, kissing her nipple, sucking, teasing with my tongue. Her taste is intoxicating. I trail my kisses down her stomach, leaving a path of goosebumps in my wake.

I can feel her trembling beneath me, and it stirs a deeper anticipation within me.

I hook my fingers into her underwear and slide them down her legs. My cock twitches in response. I look up at her, arching my eyebrows.

“Do you have a condom?” she asks, her voice shaky, her pupils dilated. Her hands are fisting the comforter and the longer I stare, the more she squirms under me.

“Yeah,” I rasp, reaching for my wallet. I tear open the packet, sheathing myself. I meet her eyes, and I see the want, the need, but also the trust. Trust in me, in us. I hope I don’t disappoint her.

Slowly, I guide myself inside her, and as our hips touch, I stop. I look at her, and she nods, her breathing erratic. I push in a little more, and her walls clench around me. She’s so tight, so hot, and I groan.

“Jesus, Clara,” I growl, and I can feel her smile against my neck.

Inch by inch, I ease myself into her, savoring everysensation. Her nails dig into my back, and I thrust in deeper, until I can’t go any further. Tight and wet and perfect.

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