Better With You (Better Love 2)

“Yeah, Butch,” I say with a small grin. “Show me your room.” For all my bravado, my heart is racing in my chest and my core is tingling with excitement. I might also be a little wet, which is absurd. But damn, I’m enjoying this high.

Alex leads me up a set of stairs and into what appears to be a master suite. A large king-size bed sits in the center, a walk-in closet is to the right, and a private en-suite bathroom is to the left. This room is nice.

There’s a desk covered with papers, and a large bookshelf teeming with books as well. I walk toward the bookshelf, expecting textbooks, maybe canonized novels that he had to buy for freshman-level English classes or something. Instead, I find shelves filled with hardbacks of young adult fiction books, mostly fantasy and sci-fi, and decorated with random origami figurines. I’ve read a good portion of these books, and I’m giddy at the thought of him having read them too.

“This is the series I’m on now,” he says from behind me, and he reaches over my shoulder to skim his fingers over the spines of four colorful hardbacks. “The final book just came out. You read it?”

“Yeah, actually.” I grab one of the books off the shelf and flip through it. “I think it’s one of my favorites. That battle scene at the end of book three was so intense that I couldn’t read anything else for almost a month after.”

“Oh man, same. I was fucked up. I literally preordered book four the minute it was available.”

“I did too,” I exclaim. “I’m kind of a sucker for Fae fantasy, anyway.” I glance over my shoulder at him. “Even more if it’s got some steam in it.”

He chuckles. “This one’s got some steam, alright. Caught me off guard, but I’m good now.”

“Not a big fan of sex scenes?” I turn to face him and lean lightly on the desk next to the bookshelf. His eyes bounce between mine.

“I can take it or leave it. You like it though?”

“Yeah,” I nod, place the hardback down on the desk, then lift myself up so I’m sitting on it, “I read a lot of romance, too.”

“Romance?” He gives me a funny look. “Like mommy porn?”

“Mmmm, Butch,” I shake my head slowly, “you just lost cool points.”

He jerks his head back and scoffs. “You’re saying you don’t read it for the sex?”

“Oh, I definitely read it for the sex,” I say on a laugh. “But I also read it because it’s empowering and creative and feminist. It makes me feel good on many different levels.” I raise a brow and flash a mischievous grin. “And romance incorporates two of my three favorite F-words—feminism and fucking.”

He barks out a laugh and takes a step closer. “What’s the third?”

“Free.” I widen my eyes and give him a duh, what else would it be? expression.

“What about fun?” He takes another step forward and puts his arms on the desk on either side of me, boxing me in.

A tingle of excitement skates down my spine, quickening my breath, but I cock my head to the side and play it cool. “What about my three words isn’t fun to you?”

A wide grin spreads over his face. “Touché, Sundance.”

“You a feminist, Butch?”

He nods seriously. “My momma would be disappointed if I weren’t.”

“That’s a good answer.”

“Maybe I should read some romance.” His chest is inches from mine. My fingers itch with the desire to touch him. On the bike earlier, I could feel his hard chest pressed up against my back. Now I want to feel it under my palms.

“I’ll give you some recommendations.”

“You do that,” he breathes out, then runs his big hands up my thighs and, even through my jeans, I can feel his heat.

My heart is pounding, I’m trying desperately not to pant, and my core is on fucking fire.

When his eyes meet mine, the same desire that’s flooding my body is reflected back at me. He wants me. I lick my lips, and his gaze falls to watch the motion. When he groans, I can’t take it anymore, and I fist his t-shirt. As I rise up, he lowers, and we meet in the middle, our mouths colliding together.

His lips are so soft and warm and demanding. He bites my lower lip and I open for him. When our tongues tangle, he grips my waist tighter and pulls me into him.

“Fuck,” he groans into my mouth. “Your tongue tastes like cherries.” He dives back in with another devouring kiss. Like he can’t get enough. Like he wants to eat me. And I want to let him.

I pull back and smirk at him. “Want to see how the rest of me tastes?”

“Holy fuck,” he grinds out, then lifts me up by my ass. I wrap my legs around him instinctively, and he walks us backward before spinning and dropping me on the bed. He’s on top of me before I can blink, and I explore his torso with my hands, taking special care to run my palms over his pecs and brush my thumbs over his nipples. His chest rumbles, and I can feel it running up my arms and through my body, like an electric current of desire.

“Take this off,” I demand, and tug his shirt upward.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, and uses one hand to reach behind his shoulders and pull his shirt over his head. Oh my god, why is that so hot? He tosses his shirt off the bed, boxes me back in with his arms, and I just kind of stare at his body.

“Shit, you’re all solid planes and smooth ridges, aren’t you,” I breathe out, and run my fingers over his abs. “So this is what they mean when they say washboard.”

He lets out a loud burst of laughter, and tries to resume kissing me, but I put up a hand to stop him.

“Gimme just another second. I’m committing this body to memory for later.”

He laughs again and sits back on his ankles. “And what about me? Don’t you think I should get the same opportunity?”

“Need spank bank material, Butch?” I grin at him, then sit up and rise onto my knees. Even mirroring his stance, I have to look up to see his face. And what a face it is.

“Yes, please.” So polite. His eyes are on me with rapt attention, and I feel powerful. I play with the hem of my shirt, and his gaze is stuck on my fingers, waiting. Anticipating.

“Fuck, Sundance, don’t make me wait any longer,” he grinds out, without taking his eyes off my hand. His blatant hunger spurs me on, so I slowly pull my band tee off and drop it on the floor next to the bed.

“Christ,” he whispers, and reaches out to palm my breast through my black lace bralette. It’s nothing special, but he’s staring like it is. He gives my breast a gentle squeeze, and I drop my head back and release a whimper.

He bends down and takes my nipple into his mouth, biting and sucking it through the lacy fabric of my bra, then meets my eyes and says in a voice thick with desire, “Je veux te faire jouir.”

Oh, okay.