Page 13 of Avalanche
I bet I could taste her through the cotton.
Lily looks at me in silent question, all trace of the glower she’d cast in Liam’s direction gone. Instead, there’s just want there, the same quivering want that stretched between us when it was just her and I beneath the covers, moments earlier. Before I’d opened my big mouth and asked her for more than she felt comfortable giving.
“I… I’d love to try,” I rasp, offering her a tremulous smile. “If you want it.”
Saying those words, it’s more terrifying than anything I faced in that hellscape of a desert that I try every day to forget. But I have to say them. For her. For the woman I’m going to marry. Because some asshole made her feel ashamed of her body—her! The most incredible woman I’ve ever known. The sort of woman I never imagined would look my way, let alone want to date me.
She needs to know how much I adore her. How I crave everything about her.
“Oh, she fucking wants it,” Liam mutters, dropping to the bed beside me. I shoot him a nervous glance, startling at his sudden closeness. As intimidating as it was having him looming over us, I think having him beside me might be even more terrifying.
Which is silly, because he’s my friend. I’ve seen him and Antoine naked, had his body close beside my own in this very bed.
I’ve seen the way his brow pinches when he comes.
Lily draws in a stuttering breath, presses her lips together with resolve, then pulls off her sleep shorts in one fluid movement. My own breath catches in my throat, heavy and solid as a stone, nearly strangling.
“Beautiful.”
The word comes out guttural, a deep primal sound. Saliva fills my mouth and I lick my lips. God, I hope I don’t drool. Please don’t let me drool.
Lilt worries her lower lip with her teeth, pressing her thighs together and angling her body as if she intends to hide herself from us. “You don’t have to. I’m not…”
A dark hand covers Lily’s mouth before she can finish whatever she was going to say, making her eyes fly wide in surprise.
“Non.”
Antoine gives his head a vehement shake before launching into what can only be a chastisement, though I don’t understand a word of his lilting French. It’s beautiful though, musical and intelligent sounding. A language that fits him as naturally as those collared shirts and designer sweaters do, like a second skin.
“He’s right,” I tell her, even though I haven’t understood a single word that he’s said. “You are beautiful. Every part of you.”
My gaze drops to her lap, to that hidden part of her that is currently tucked out of sight between pressed-together thighs. But I can still see that tantalizing mound, a little v decorated by dark curls. Heat rushes down my spine at the sight of her, at the curve of her hips and those strong legs, at the dip of her naval and the stretch of her sleep tee across her breasts.
My wife. This is the woman who is going to be my wife.
If I can get her to say yes.
The thought has me launching myself across the bed, pulling her sumptuous little body back beneath me, slanting my lips against hers. Somewhere, I’m aware of Liam huffing, of Antoine chuckling, of the brush of his thigh against my bicep as I nearly knock him out of the way, wedge myself between him and Lily. I don’t care though. Not when Lily’s legs are tangled with my own once again, when there is nothing between me and her but the whisper thin fabric of my boxers, when her fingers are tracing the length of my spine and she’s moaning into my mouth.
Yes. This. This is where we were before. And this time I’m not going to mess things up.
I pull back, panting against her lips, stomach quivering as I hold myself up over her. She stares up at me, pupils blown, hair mussed and tangled in my fingers, long waves draped over my forearms.
“You okay?” I ask her, the question whispered against her lips.
“Yes.”
The answer gusts across my mouth on a sweet exhale, tasting like my future. I imagine what it would be like to hear that word in response to another question.
Will you marry me?
Yes.
I smile softly to myself, thinking about that little black box tucked in the pocket of the jacket that’s currently strewn across her floor somewhere. My lips brush across her pulse point, my tongue tasting her, feeling the flutter of her heartbeat. It thunders in time with my own, wild and desperate and ready to burst. She squirms against me, arching, legs spreading wide. I feel the drag of her cotton tank top against my bare chest, hear the little breathy gasps she makes.
I slide lower, my lips teasing the skin at the neckline of her tank top, my hands trembling as I cup her breasts through the fabric. It’s still terrifying, touching her like this. Still amazing that she lets me do it.
Warmth brushes against the top of my head and Lily’s gasps are silenced by a satisfied, muffled moan. I look up her body, something strange twisting inside of me at the sight of Antoine kissing her, his hand at her throat, his dark lashes brushing against his cheek. I freeze at the sight, at the indecent way his lips devour hers, at the slide of his tongue into her mouth.
