Page 99 of Touch the Sky
I could have her.
Not in every way, but in this way, and maybe this way could be enough.
It’s more than I’ve let myself have for years. I never thought I was missing anything. After I swore off dating, I never got close enough to anyone to feel like I was giving up something real, but this—her hands, her voice, her body, her hot breath in my ear—is so real it literallyhurtsme, and I want it.
I want. I want. I want.
I open my eyes.
I look at her.
Like a spring has broken lose inside me, I lunge for her, grabbing the back of her head and fisting a handful of her hair so I can crush her mouth to mine.
She yelps in surprise, but when I try to ease off, she lets out a low growl of warning that softens into a moan when I give her hair another tug.
I part her lips with my tongue. We’re both still clutching at my chest. I can feel the tips of her fingers digging in hard, and the more she pushes, the more the pain from a moment ago fades, replaced by a different kind of longing. This one isn’t just an empty hole of remorse.
This ache is hungry. It needs to be filled.
“Closer,” I mutter against Jacinthe’s mouth.
The stupid console might as well be a six-foot wall between us; it’s proving just as inconvenient as we twist and contort ourselves to try and scramble closer together.
I need more of her touching me.
We break the kiss and press our foreheads together, panting. Her brown eyes are all I can see, the pupils dilated to wide black orbs sparking with heat.
“Don’t move,” she orders.
I’m kiss-drunk enough that I don’t realize what’s happening until she’s flung herself out of the truck, slammed the door, and sprinted around the hood like she’s going in for an Olympic medal. She yanks the passenger side door open and gives me a wolfish grin.
“Take that off.” She nods her chin at my jacket while she starts stripping out of her own.
We toss the jackets into the backseat, and then she hoists herself up into the cab.
She straddles me.
All the breath whooshes out of my lungs. My awareness shrinks to just the places where her thighs and ass are pressing into my lap. She tucks the ends of her bob behind her ears, her expression turning sheepish as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Uh, maybe we should shut the door,” she says.
All of a sudden, I remember we’re in the parking lot of a pumpkin patch. Even though we’re the only car in sight and the lot is shrouded in darkness, there’s nothing to stop the property owners from wandering out here and finding us dry humping in a truck.
I open my mouth to say something to that effect, but then Jacinthe shifts her weight and gives me a slight squeeze with her thighs.
All I can manage is a gasp.
Jacinthe flails for the door handle and shuts us inside. We have a moment of awkward fumbling with the seat’s settings before we get it to slide back and recline. Once we’ve got enough room to maneuver, she reaches for my shoulders while I grab onto her hips. She flexes into me, arching her back and pressing our chests together.
I graze her bottom lip with my teeth, giving the kiss-swollen swell the slightest of scrapes. It’s still enough to make her dig her fingertips into my shoulder blades and buck her hips.
We find a rhythm, grinding against each other while we gasp for air between kisses and let our hands explore every place we can reach.
“This time,” I murmur against her neck while sliding my hands up under her flannel to the smooth expanse of her lower back, “it’s your turn.”
I try to focus on getting some buttons undone, but my mind catches on the words I just said.
This time.
