Page 61 of If You Never Come Back
“Then you’re all mine, Wes Paulsen. I want a life with you, too. Marriage, kids, family, the works.”
Wes’s face splits into the biggest grin I’ve ever seen him make. His eyes glisten with his own tears of joy. And then he pulls my mouth to his.
The contact between us this time is different from the soft and tentative kiss from minutes ago. That kiss was hesitant, shy, earthly. This kiss, with our lips and tongues moving together in heated unison, is every planet in our solar system. It’s the Milky Way galaxy mixed with every star that ever existed.
It’s the transcendent joy of having him back when I never thought it would be possible. It’s beyond every happiness in this known world. It is positively sublime.
Our hands follow the filthy rhythm set by our mouths. We’re grabbing and caressing at each other. We waste no time getting reacquainted with our bodies, even though it’s been months upon months since we’ve touched each other this way. We’ve already said everything we need to say. Now it’s time to let our bodies speak.
For just a second, Wes breaks our kiss. With his hands still cupping my face, he smiles softly. “Can we move this to your bed?”
Biting my lip, I nod. He stands and helps me up, and we take the three steps to my bed. I start to slip off my top, but he softy grabs my hands, stilling me. Again his rich brown eyes pin me. My chest tightens. I never thought he’d look at me this way again, with equal amounts of lust and adoration in his eyes. It's almost too much. I swallow, breathe, and smile.
“I missed you so damn much, Shay.”
“You have no idea how much I missed you.” I press a gentle kiss to his lips.
He traces his fingers along the hem of my shirt. “Let me?”
The slow way he lifts my top off, it’s as if he’s savoring the action. His gaze scans over every bare inch of my torso. Then he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me snug against him.
He tugs off his shirt before I can even grab at the fabric. I run my palms up his chest. My mouth waters at the hard feeling, the way his chest hair tickles my skin.
My eyes struggle to take in every line, every muscle, every freckle I missed seeing.
Wes softly grips my wrists in his hands, then leads me to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. My breath catches when I remember him pulling the same move our first night together.
Kneeling down, he pulls my yoga pants off, leaving me in nothing but cotton panties. The slightest dip hits my stomach. I glance down.
“What is it?” Wes asks as if reading my mind.
“I just…I never thought this would happen. I’m still in shock.”
He nods, a wistful look playing at the edges of his eyes. But then he unzips his pants and lets them fall to the floor.
“Good shock?”
I reach for the waistband of his boxer briefs, fixating on the generous bulge I remember so well. “The best kind of shock.”
He moves above me, pressing me into the mattress, and kisses his way down the side of my neck to my breast. He spends minutes showing just how much he missed me and my body. His tongue and lips work me over, leaving me breathless. He hasn’t lost one iota of his touch. Just his mouth on my breasts leaves me cross-eyed and desperate for oxygen. I’m tugging at his hair, begging and moaning for more. And when he kisses down my stomach to my hips, my sounds take on a crazed quality.
When he settles between my legs, I hold my breath. His tongue hits me in the spot I need him most, and I gasp, taking all the air in the room with me. It’s greedy, but I can’t help it. Every hot swirl and lap is a whole new dimension of heavenly. It’s even better than I remembered. I grip the sheets with both fists as the heat warms me from my throbbing clit up my pelvis to my chest.
This shouldn’t throw me off so much. Wes was consistently spectacular at this. But after months without him, I almost forgot how good he was, how he could make my entire body quake with pleasure.
Every swirl, every lick, every taste is a reminder. He was always this good. And he always loved me.
Heat turns to flames, and I know I’m close. Wes’s fingers dig into my thighs. He hums, seeming to approve of my crazed antics. Pressure builds, the aching intensifies, and I grind harder against his mouth. My hand dives into his hair, and I pull. The growl he lets out is positively carnal. And then I break.
The explosion is fire. I’m flailing and shouting, my back in an impossible arch, hanging onto both the bed and Wes’s hair. He holds me steady with both hands around my thighs, letting me ride out my climax—just like he always did. Because he remembers me and my body, the way it moves, the way it thrashes. He never forgot.
The pleasure pulses through me, the waves weakening as the seconds pass. My chest heaves and my back falls against the bed. He climbs on top of me, and I barely have the strength to wrap my arms around him.
I glance up at him, my vision still hazy. “Fuck, I missed that,” I babble.
He lets out a low chuckle, then plants a soft kiss on me. “No way you missed it more than me.”
I reach down between us, feeling his steely hardness. When I glance back up at him, his eyes are shy.
