Page 67 of A Chance for Us
He leans back more, watching me. “Did you . . . Shit. I swear you were.”
“I did that. I was dreaming, and I guess . . . I’m—” I stop because the perfect excuse evades me. Mortified. Horny. Desperate. “Sorry.”
“I’m not,” he says quickly.
“You’re not?”
“Not even a little. I would’ve kept going.”
I watch him warily. “Even though we said we shouldn’t.”
“That was before I slept with you in my arms, and you rubbed your ass on me all night while moaning my name. I’m notthatstrong. I think it’s clear we both want this.”
My heart is pounding, and all the reasons for not crossing that line are gone. He has no idea how those words curl my toes, but there are so many possibilities where this ends very badly. There are plenty of ones where this goes well. Oliver and I can choose the path that has us both hot, sweaty, sated, and then divorced. No harm, no foul, no feelings.
I want him. He wants me. We are adults. So, let’s get naked.
Fear of rejection keeps me from saying that aloud. I wait, each breath feeling like it takes a lifetime to leave my lungs.
Finally, I muster the courage and speak. “I know I do.”
His hand lifts, pushing a strand of hair back from my cheek. “I want to make you feel good.”
Oh, I want that too. “You have given me so much.”
“I can give you more. Let me make you feel good, Maren.”
“And what then?”
Oliver gives a devilish grin that I want to wipe off his face with my lips. “Then we go on our honeymoon and spend the whole time enjoying ourselves.” He leans in, his mouth getting closer. “We lose ourselves before we have to come back to reality.”
That sounds really fucking good and tempts me with a sense of something I haven’t had in a while—hope.
“Reality sucks,” I say breathlessly.
“Let’s live in the fantasy for a while.”
My hand moves to the back of his head, and I pull him so our lips just barely touch. “I can do that.”
“Thank fucking God.” Oliver moans the words before crushing his lips to mine.
The kisses we’ve shared over the last few days have been tame compared to this. Oliver and I are wild, no holding back as we each volley for control. He kisses me. I kiss him. Back and forth we go until I have no idea who is leading this anymore, and I don’t care.
We are lips, tongues, and gasps, and that works just fine for me. He pushes me onto my back, his body covering mine as I tug up his shirt, wanting to feel his skin.
He pauses long enough to tear it off, and then my hands are back on him, needing to feel his skin. I slide my fingers along his spine, reveling in how each taut muscle pulses beneath me while he kisses my neck.
“I like you in my clothes.”
“I’d like me out of your clothes.”
Oliver rubs his nose down my neck. “I bet I’ll like that too.”
I’m wearing his shirt and shorts, and during the night, the knot I tied to hold the shorts up has loosened significantly. Just moving a little has them lowering. He sits up, removing my shirt.
“You have no idea how stunning you are,” he says, and I blush under his gaze.
I know I’m pretty—not in a snobby way, but that’s never been a complaint I’ve heard before. Even if I’d been totally oblivious to it before I pulled into this town, the way he had been looking at me all week would have convinced me he thought I was attractive.
