Page 324 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
When he looks at me again, everything in the small space tightens—the air, heat, and reason.
His fingertips drag along my jaw. The touch is feather-light but wrecks my pulse.
I lean in, my nose brushing his cheek. His skin smells like cedar.
“Jade,” he says quietly, warning and wanting tangled together with the desire to flip me over and pound me into the mattress.
I feel it. I want it. But this slow beat is spiking desire in me like I’ve never experienced.
“Yeah?”
He doesn’t answer.
His hand slides to the back of my neck and pulls me in. Our first kiss is slow. His breath mingles with mine, warm, heavy, tasting faintly of something dark and sweet.
My lips part and our tongues meet lazily, unhurried. He isn’t rushing and doesn’t press. We just linger. His mouth tastes like salt and something warm I can’t name, something that makes my knees weak.
The nylon rustles when I lean in without meaning to, chasing that slow drag of his tongue. My hands find his jaw. My fingertips trace the warmth of him, anchoring myself to the pace he’s set, slow, deep, and endless.
The kiss deepens just enough to make my pulse stumble. His hand finds the curve of my jaw, guiding my mouth closer until the kiss turns heavier, the kind that pulls little moans from the back of my throat.
My fingers twist in his shirt, holding him there, not to take more, to keep the moment from breaking.
The mattress groans under our weight, and he laughs against my mouth, soft and breathless. “This mattress isn’t going to survive us. It knows.”
I smile against his mouth. “Nice and gentle.” His chest rises against mine.
His hand slips to my waist, and every movement sparks a new patch of heat.
“Think we can keep quiet?” he whispers, grinning.
“Not a chance.”
His grin fades as he studies me. His eyes trace every inch like he’s memorizing something he already knows by heart.
And I love watching every second he does it. How his gaze lingers just a little longer on my mouth, and how his brows draw together like he’s trying to solve some unspoken thought.
I love the way he sees me, not just with his eyes but with something deeper, something that makes me feel both exposed and safe.
It’s in these still moments when he’s silent but sees everything that my heart slips further into his.
He leans in, and the space between us dissolves. Each breath and brush of his mouth feels like it could tip us over the edge if we let it.
He sits back as his fingers find the zipper of my sweater. Slowly, he pulls it down my front. The heat of his hands presses through the soft fabric of my T-shirt. My nipples tighten, and a sharp ache spreads through my chest and down to my core. Hisfingers linger just a moment longer over the cotton covering my breasts. My skin tingles. Every nerve alive.
He slides it off my shoulder.
My heart thumps as I reach for his button-down.
I unfasten each button slowly, my fingers caressing the fabric as I work.
He watches me, calm and steady, eyes tracking every movement, not saying a word.
When the last button is free, I slide the shirt off his shoulders. My hands brush over the strength of his biceps and forearms. The faint warmth lingers where my palms pass.
He doesn’t move, letting me take my time, as the moment stretches out between us.
Then his hands move up my back, slipping beneath my T-shirt. His fingers trail up my spine, gathering the hem of my shirt until the warmth of his hand is against bare skin. It’s a slow process. Slow, hot, and sexy. When he finally pulls my shirt over my head, the fabric whispers in the stillness.
