Page 88 of Resurrection
"So now what?" he asks, leaning in.
"Now this," I say, meeting his lips before I lose my nerve.
Our empty bottles clatter to the floor, and we tumble backward against the pillows. It’s messy and immediate, our limbs tangling in a way that's both familiar and new. My pulse thrums with adrenaline, and my skin tingles everywhere he touches me. There's an urgency to it, years of wanting wrapped up in each kiss. And we kiss like we're drowning, lost to everything but the feel of each other.
Ty's hands skim under my shirt, his rough fingertips grazing my ribs, making me gasp.
I pull at his T-shirt, yanking it over his head, my hands mapping out the inked muscles beneath. God, he's changed so much. Transformed completely from the gangly boy next door. Gone is that teenager with shoulders a tad too wide for his frame. What's before me—or rather on me—is pure man—strong and solid and perfectly proportioned in all the right places.
It’s dark in here, the light from a single lamp not enough to clearly see his tats. Somewhere in the back of my head, I wonder if my name is still on his skin, but I’m too busy kissing him to check. Too busy and too horny.
His eyes lock on mine as he draws back a little, holding my face in his large palms, and it sends a thrill through me that's almost too much.
The buzz has my mind spinning, and I’m not exactly sure how it happens, how we strip off all the layers until there's nothing between us but heat and anticipation.
We're standing next to the bed, and Ty’s mouth travels down my throat, his calloused fingers leaving trails of fire in their wake. It feels electric, intense, like we're the only two people in the world.
"I missed you," I breathe out drunkenly as his lips find my collarbone.
"Missed you more," he mumbles against my neck, then kisses a trail over my shoulder. He pauses all of a sudden, then spins me around. "What is this?" His voice is barely there as he skims his fingers over my back, over the ink feathers done over ten years ago. I forgot it's there, forgot he'd never seen the tattoo.
"Shocked?" I ask, shivering from the contact.
"More like surprised," he confesses. "This is stunning." He presses another kiss to the center of the design, then tilts my head back, claims my lips. It's that hard and deep type of claiming, like he can't get enough of me.
The room is a chaos of moans and the soft creek of the bed as we fall on the bedcovers and roll around, completely naked, our clothes somewhere on the floor. He’s hard and ready, and even though I know it’s a mistake, I don’t push him away.
I don’t want to.
It feels too good, to be pressed up to him, to hold him in my arms, to have his cock wedged between my thighs.
He looks down at me when I’m flat on my back. The corner of his mouth tilts up slightly as he slips his hand down to my sex. A full-body shudder punches through me when I feel his fingers brush over my sex. It's just a graze but I'm dripping. How can he do this to me?
"You're so wet," he murmurs in my ear.
"I'm not going to deny it."
He straightens up, his eyes still on me. "Well, you can't since I've got all the proof I need." Then he brings his finger—same one he just used to touch my pussy—to his mouth and licks it.
I feel hot all over. It's the sexiest thing I've seen in my entire life.
He leans forward just a little, searching my face as if asking for permission without words, and I nod, dizzy with desire. And obviously, alcohol.
He nudges my legs open and settles between them. His hand slides down my belly, tracing the curve of my hip bone.
I shiver from the contact.
Ty smiles, that tiny dimple in his left cheek that always drove me nuts winks at me, and then he’s kissing me again, his tongue sliding into my mouth like it's been years since we last tasted each other and not less than five minutes.
His hands explore every inch of me—gliding over my breasts, outlining the valley of my stomach, gripping my hips. My breath comes in ragged gasps, each one coaxed by his touch.
It's slow and methodical, as if he's trying to remember my naked body as if he's trying to reconnect with it. And all I can do is stare up at him, completely transfixed and squirming from growing pleasure. It was always like this before. He didn't even need to work me up. One look and I got all worked up on my own. I didn't think this strange sexual compatibility would carry over the course of seventeen years with me.
"Ty," I murmur desperately when he drags his index finger down to the apex of my thighs but pauses before reaching my clit. "I need you to fuck me before I sober up and change my mind."
"You want it that much?" he husks out.
"You’ve got one shot at this. Don’t blow it."
