My body trembles. Colors burst through my closed eyes. I can’t stop the moan from slipping past my lips.
“Fuck!” I almost scream.
He pulls my head back by the end of my hair and captures my voice with his mouth. He runs his tongue roughly, expertly, through my lips and takes command—maybe even ownership—of my mouth.
His voice rumbles against my tongue. The vibrations carry down my throat and radiate through my body.
I can feel his reaction in my toes.
He stiffens, his throat bobbing against the side of my face as he pulses inside me.
We collapse at the same time. I sink against him as he falls back onto the bench.
His chest rises and falls in the same frenzied tempo as mine.
“That was good,” I say, panting.
“If that was just good, I want a second try.”
I slide off, wincing as I get to my feet.
“You have to feed me first,” I say, tugging my pants back up. “And I could use a bathroom if at all possible.”
He grins as he slips off the condom. “You were wet as fuck.”
“It happens.”
“What do you mean, it happens?” He situates himself but keeps an eye on me. “Please. Elaborate.”
I’m just messing with him, but I can’t back off now.
I grin. “That’s what I’ve heard—that I get wet as fuck.”
He moves in front of me before I can protest. His hand winds through my hair as he pulls my face to his.
He kisses me the same way I kissed him earlier—hard and intentional.
“No more of that,” he whispers against my mouth, his eyes glued to mine.
The look in his eye—the point he’s trying to make—is hot as hell. And although I’m not sure what it means, exactly, or why my knees wobble at the sound of it, I relent.
“No more of that,” I say.
He pulls back and then looks at the condom in his hand. “Let’s find a place for this and a bathroom for you.”
“Then what?”
We dip from beneath the trees and head toward the greenhouse. I grin when he takes my hand and laces our fingers together.
“Then we have dinner here,” he says. “If you want.”
Anything with you.
“Okay,” I say instead.
Because although my heart may be smitten with Wade Mason, my brain is still leery.
Feelings aren’t always reciprocated. I know that from experience. The men I go for always break my heart. Wade is different, I think. Maybe I even hope. But I’m not letting my guard down.
For now, anyway.
THIRTY-THREE
DARA
I yawn. “I should probably get going.”
Still, I don’t move. Not a muscle.
Wade’s bed has quickly become my favorite place. It’s ridiculously soft, has the best pillows, and has a view at eight in the morning you can’t get at the finest hotels in the world.
I bet. I haven’t been to the finest hotels in the world, but I don’t know how they could get any better.
Wade doesn’t reply to my statement. He just stays still with his arm under my head and one over my waist.
It surprises me that he doesn’t want to get up and get to work. Saturday is a workday for Wade Mason. But he doesn’t seem determined to move, and I don’t have the discipline to get up either.
Not now while he’s still here.
“I’ve been thinking,” I say, my voice the only sound in the room.
He hums sleepily.
“I want to make an adjustment to my house,” I say.
“To what?”
I trail my fingers down his back and look out the massive window.
The grass is green, as are the evergreen treetops that extend as far as I can see. Although I love to watch the sun rise from my kitchen table, I’ve learned over the past few weeks that waking up to the sun low in the sky is pretty special.
Not as special as waking up with Wade, but special enough.
“I want my bedroom to face the direction of yours,” I say. “Not that I plan on waking up to the sun rising many days, but I even like it midmorning. It starts the day off with some Vitamin D.”
He rolls his hips against me. “I have your Vitamin D right here.”
I laugh and hug him tighter.
Things between us have been so … easy.
Over the past couple of weeks, we’ve seen each other nearly every day. I’ve stayed here more and more, and instead of going home when he left for work, he’s left me sleeping the past couple of days, and I went home when I got up. He’s trusting me more and more as the days go on.
There are still moments where I catch him watching me as if he’s trying to figure me out. He stares out the window sometimes instead of watching the movie with me. He’s still slow to smile on occasion as if he’s trying to remember that smiling for me, and with me, is okay now.