Chase Me If You Can(67)
I grab my phone for a quick radar check and then swipe into my text notifications. To my amazement, Eric sent a photo of Mom’s freshly mowed lawn about an hour ago. Sam must have also dealt with the HOA fine, because the only other texts from my mom are a series of complaints about how nice it is that some of her children care about her.
I roll my eyes and don’t bother replying.
“Your brothers take care of the lawn?”
Locking my phone, I drop it into a cupholder and turn to Wes with a nod. “Shockingly, yeah, they did.” I lean back into the seat and let my eyes fall shut as the breeze tickles my skin through the open window. “Frisbee before I fall asleep?” I ask with a yawn.
“I have a better idea.” He waggles his brows before releasing his seat belt and reaching for mine. “When’s the last time you made out in a car?”
“Other than the last couple of weeks?” I laugh, unable to help a roll of my eyes as he brings my palm to his mouth and presses an open-mouthed kiss there. “Probably when I was fifteen.”
“A couple of kisses do not a make-out make.” Wes sinks his teeth into the fleshy bit of my palm, not hard enough to hurt, but the pressure shivers through me. “Just say the word, darlin’, and I’ll show you exactly what I mean.”
“You can’t be serious.”
He lowers my hand and gives me a stare so full of heat he might singe the surrounding fields. “Come over here and find out.”
My breath stutters. Anyone could see us if they drove by, but what are the chances of that happening? The road we’re on doesn’t even have all that great of a vantage point as far as photos go. It’s just a spot that happens to have decent cell reception so we can check the radar as the storms initiate over the next hour or two.
Before I can second guess myself, I grab on to Wes’s shoulders and slide from the driver’s seat over to the passenger side—and by slide, I mean topple into his lap with the grace of a sack of potatoes.
He helps me right myself with a chuckle, one hand splayed low on my back. The tips of his fingers slide under the waistband of my shorts, teasing the slightly sweaty skin as his other hand cups my jaw. “I love it when you give me that look,” he sighs, stroking my bottom lip with his thumb.
“What look?” I grumble as I attempt to settle into a more comfortable position. Wes is a big guy, and while my car isn’t tiny, there’s not a ton of room when you add my long legs to the mix.
“The look you get when you know I’m going to talk you into doing something you want to do but think you shouldn’t,” he says with a wink.
I quickly forget all about finding a place for my knees when Wes tugs me more firmly into him, my thighs spread wide over his hips. His hand on my back dips further into my shorts, kneading the curve of my ass as his tongue plunges deep. He kisses me like he’s been suffocating for days and I’m his only hope of a breath of air.
“Convinced yet?” he rumbles against my ear, nipping the lobe lightly.
“Mmm, I don’t think so,” I whisper back, his playful mood contagious. He was right. I do want this. Badly. “What else you got?”
Wes growls. Honest to god growls, the sound rushing straight between my thighs. But that’s nothing compared to when he reaches for my tank top, yanks the neckline and my bra down in one rough motion, and treats my nipple to the wet, hot slide of his tongue.
“Fuck, that’s good,” I gasp. Playfulness evaporates as lust roars through me. Every drag of his tongue, every light nip of his teeth, spears me with a bolt of fresh desire. I don’t even realize I’m rocking my hips in a fruitless search for friction until his hand clamps down to keep me in place.
“Need a minute.” With a flush high in his cheeks that has nothing to do with the hot breeze blowing through the windows, Wes flicks his eyes up to mine while dragging in a ragged breath, indecision racing across his features.
Then, with a last lingering look steeped in regret, he gently tugs my bra and shirt back into place. “I don’t want the first time I’m inside you to be on the side of the road.”
I swallow hard, pushing my hand through his dark hair while struggling to contain my own lust. Between the rasp in his voice and the sheer want in his eyes, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so desired before. Definitely not with all my clothes on, parked on the side of the road.
Wes leans into my touch like a great big cat eager to be pet and watches me through narrow slits. “Sorry,” he says with a rueful chuckle. “I know I started it.”
“Nothing to apologize for.” I press a light kiss to his mouth and start to ease my way back to the driver’s side, but he only tightens his arms around my waist.
“I like holding you,” he says softly, leaning further back into the seat and pulling me with him. It’s almost too hot for it, even with the breeze. I rest my cheek against his shoulder anyway, savoring the closeness.
I drag my finger over the top of his shoulder, skimming one of the bird tattoos. He’s in a muscle tank today that exposes the curve of his biceps and the smattering of birds I now know extend from his chest.
“I got them when I was eighteen. My parents fought a lot when I was a kid. I mean, they still do.”
Wes strokes a hand down my back, a soothing touch I suspect is for himself as much as it is for me. There’s too much of an echo of the way I talk about my own childhood in his voice, an undercurrent of old pain that won’t be dulled by words. I brush my lips over one of his tattoos and am rewarded with a soft sigh.