S'more of You (Summer Lovin' collection)(15)
“For what—”
The words die in my throat when I turn around and find Margot wearing my sash.
Nothing but my sash and a pair of white panties.
Her hip is cocked, her right hand propped high on the wall. Hair out of its customary braid. My blood goes south faster than a twig snaps, swelling my dick up behind my zipper, the sudden pressure pushing a groan up into my throat.
“Bet you wish you’d shown me these sooner,” she murmurs.
Chapter Seven
Margot
When it comes to making a splashy entrance, I am usually quite confident in myself.
I’ve never made a mostly nude entrance before, however, so there was a tiny moment of self-doubt before emerging from the bathroom in nothing but a sash and panties. But the jingly nerves wash away like suds down a drain when I absorb Dean’s palpable reaction.
His jaw goes loose before hardening, his dark eyes tracking down to my single visible breast. Long fingers stretch at his sides, that strong throat working in a swallow. I watch the zipper of his jeans grow fuller, his chest starting a slow, dramatic heave, his usual steady breath turning shallow when his gaze reaches my panties. The white cotton mound between my legs that, if I’m being honest, has felt swollen and achy since I got into his truck. Or maybe since he kissed me this afternoon.
I want to put that problem in Dean’s hands.
I’ve only ever wanted him to touch my bare skin. No one else. There have been times where I’ve wanted to explore who I am sexually, to feel and experience what it’s like to give and take pleasure from another person. But I could never bring myself to give up on the dream that Dean would be my first. A dream I’ve harbored since I was a teenager. Maybe it’s silly to put so much importance on my virginity, but it’s not really about that. Waiting for him was pure stubbornness. Or maybe the belief that I would feel exactly like this when the moment arrived.
Confident.
Eager.
Emotional.
Hot.
No one else could make me safe enough to feel all those things at once.
“Margot,” he starts, and I’ve never heard his voice like this. So deep and throaty. “I’ve never seen anything more incredible in my life.” Slowly, he begins to walk in my direction, and the closer he gets, the more I clock his signs of hunger. The pull around his mouth, the sweat on his hairline, the jutting angle behind his fly. “Tell me now what you want tonight. Give me a boundary and spell it out clearly, because I can’t think of a single one right now. I just want to tear those little white panties off.”
Fizz rushes wildly in my veins, and there’s a glorious quickening of muscles and tendons below my waist. I’m wanted. I’m needed in the same way I need him. The best part of this moment is the lack of mystery. There was always that veil between us, me wondering how he felt. If he was attracted to me too. If he missed me, pined for me in the offseason, the way I did with him. One look at his acutely pained but worshipful expression, and I’ll never wonder again.
I drop my arm from the wall, teasing a finger along the elastic band of my underwear. “I only left them on so I could watch you take them off.”
His responding groan is cut off by my lips, because he lunges in my direction, lifting me off the floor in one sweeping move, our mouths colliding in a fevered twist. Sipping, suctioning, and pulling. A hurried need to give in and taste. Taste. Taste.
We’re moving.
I have no idea where he’s taking me, but I don’t care. We’re in a secluded cabin in the woods, and there’s so much freedom in this privately shared world. I’m concerned with nothing but the rake of his tongue against mine, the press of a wall against my back.
His hands molding to my butt, that grip keeping me lifted. Lifted so he can press his hips into me there. Right there against the soft swell between my thighs.
“I want to eat you out so fucking bad,” he says through his teeth, gathering the rear material of my panties in his fist and twisting, drawing the cotton up between the cheeks of my backside and pulling until I sob sharply, overwhelmed by the clawing heat in my belly. “Can I kiss you down there, Margot?”
“Yes.” Sensing his need for total clarity, I find his heavy-lidded eyes. “I want to do everything with you tonight. I don’t want to stop.”
He drops his forehead to mine, hissing a curse against my mouth. “Are you sure?”
“A thousand percent,” I whisper. “It’s you.”
I swear I can hear his heart slam a little extra hard when I say that. “It’s you and me,” he amends, pulling me off the wall and carrying me into a room off the kitchen. A screened-in porch that looks out into the woods. A lantern hangs from the ceiling, but he doesn’t bother lighting it. Instead, he carries me to the padded bench that runs along the entire perimeter of the porch.
“I’m not going to make it upstairs,” Dean mutters, setting me on my feet and feeling his way around to the front of me, molding my sex in his big hand through the dampening white cotton. “I’ve spent years getting hard for you. Even when I hadn’t seen you in a year, it was always you I needed to think about.” He delves his fingers inside my panties, slowly, his calloused work hand giving the most unique and mind-blowing friction to my softest flesh. “God, I can’t believe I’m touching your pussy.”