“Are you cold?” Sullivan’s sleepy voice vibrates through me. It’s husky, and strokes something deep in my belly. My feelings for him—hell for all three of them—are spiraling out of control.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, my own voice raspy and my throat sore from swallowing all that ocean water yesterday.
“How is your back? Are you hurting anywhere?” He questions, his voice strong.
“Just sore, but I’ll be fine. I’m stronger than I look,” I tell him as he starts to gently rub his hands up and down my back. I bite my lip to stop myself from making any loud mewling noises.
“Let me see it. I forgot to put some cream on it last night. I can do that now,” he offers, nudging me off of him. I scoot away and lay down on my stomach beside him. This is bad, but oh so good. He peels the blanket away and gently pulls the shirt I’m wearing up.
The cold air of the room kisses my bare skin and I hiss out through my teeth at the sensation.
“Don’t move, I’m getting the cream.” He orders and gets up from the bed. God, he’s so bossy, it’s almost infuriating. I don’t watch him, instead I bury my heated cheeks into the mattress. His scent swirls around me, it’s inside me, in my pores, swirling around my head. I’m supposed to hate him, but hate is the last thing I’m feeling right now.
He reappears a moment later with a tube in his hand. Sitting down next to me, he squeezes some onto his fingers and starts to lightly massage my back. His touch is gentle, and sensual at the same time. It sends small jolts of pleasure up my spine and then back down again, and into my core.
“Oh god, that feels good.” I groan into the mattress without thought.
“I told you I could make you feel better,” he whispers, his hot breath caressing my ear. I can almost see the smug look on his face, the glint of mischief in his eyes. It doesn’t take long for me to turn into a pile of mush beneath his strong hands. His fingers trail across my skin, the cream he used penetrating deep into my muscles. He pulls away and I’m not sure what overcomes me, but I feel the need to apologize, to tell him that I’m sorry for ruining everything for him last year. I never should’ve listened to my father, believed his lies, not when he was far worse than the Bishops.
Pushing up off the mattress I settle onto my knees, the shirt falling back into place. When my gaze finds Sullivan’s, I see the heat in his eyes. Instinctively my eyes drop down to his boxers, a sizeable tent having formed there.
Shit, he’s huge, and hard as stone. I lift my gaze back to his face before I say something to embarrass myself.
“I… I just want to say sorry, for that night, for ruining…”
“Shhh,” Sullivan reaches out, pulling me into his arms. My lips press into a firm line at his touch. The organ in my chest starts to pound and my chest rises and falls in an unsteady rhythm. With his hands on my hips he moves us back towards the headboard. I gasp as his stiff cock presses against my center. He must be able to feel the affect he has on me.
“I don’t want to talk about the past, in fact I don’t want to talk at all.” Fingers ghost over my hips and I wiggle against him, enjoying his hardness against me. His grip tightens and he groans, and I swear to god it has to be the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard in my entire life.
Lifting my hands I place them on his shoulders and lean in, my lips finding his full firm ones. The kiss is saturated with lust, with a primal need for something more and like two souls trying to find their place in each other we collide with a heat that could rival the sun. Sullivan’s tongue slips past his bottom lip, and presses against mine begging for entry into my mouth. Without hesitation I part my lips and our tongues meet, stroking each other tenderly.
My hands move all on their own gliding over his strong shoulders, and down his firm chest, over his eight pack abs, and to his tapered waist, before moving back up again, until my fingers find purchase in the longer strands of his hair, in this light it’s almost a rusty color that suits him.
Breathlessly, he pulls away, the blue of his eyes the color of a thunderstorm before it rains, his pupils dilated, “Fuck, Harlow, I want to kiss you everywhere, taste every inch of you.”
His confession should frighten me being how inexperienced I am, but it doesn’t it excites me, because I would love nothing more than to have his lips on my skin, his tongue stroking me in ways I could never imagine.