Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

His hands rested on my waist for a second before sliding down over my hips. We stared at each other in a mix of longing and defensiveness. I could see the wariness in his dark eyes just as I knew he saw that emotion mirrored in mine.

Why did he stop?

Stopping would only lead me to thinking, and I didn’t want to think. I wanted to be impulsive and stupid. Even if it wrecked me.

“I should go.”

Michael’s answer was to tighten his grip on my waist. He gave me what felt like a reassuring squeeze before slipping his fingers under my sweater. I shivered at the soft caress of his rough fingertips.

“You’re not wearing a coat,” he said, his voice low. “You need to start wearing a coat.” There was a dreamlike quality to his tone. Like he was in a daze. His touch was pulling me into that daze with him. When he caressed a little higher, across my ribs, goose bumps prickled over my breasts, and they felt heavy, desperate for his hands, his mouth.

“Michael …”

His hands came out from under my sweater to take hold of the opening of my jeans. He dug his thumbs into the waistband, expression determined and hot as our eyes stayed connected. And then he slowly tugged my pants down over my hips. The denim clung tightly to my generous hips, so he had to guide them down, lowering to his haunches to do so. I felt his hot breath on the cotton between my legs, and I shuddered with need. Bracing a hand on his strong shoulder, I lifted one foot after the other so he could unzip my boots and pull the jeans off.

A small part of me wondered if he was doing this deliberately, seducing me slowly so I could torment myself later with the knowledge that I’d had multiple opportunities to stop this. When he curled his big hands around my calves, looked up into my eyes, and caressed the back of my legs, I stopped questioning his motives. He didn’t look like a man calculating every move. He looked like a man savoring me.

A tug deep in my womb caused another rush of wet to dampen the material between my legs, and as if he sensed it, Michael’s gaze lowered there. His hands climbed higher around the back of my legs before smoothing around my upper thighs. Gliding his thumbs toward my inner thighs, he asked, voice hoarse, “Open your legs.”

Excitement fizzled like champagne bubbles in my belly, and I moaned a little as I did as he asked. Gently, he pushed beneath my underwear, and I gasped as two thick fingers slid easily inside me.

“Oh, fuck.” He groaned and rested his forehead against my right thigh. “You’re so ready.”

I flushed with embarrassment because a guy usually had to work a lot harder to get me to this point.

Easing his fingers from me, Michael pulled my underwear down my legs. I stepped out of them, my legs shaking a little. And then Michael lifted my right leg over his shoulder, and I gasped, resting my hand on his opposite shoulder for balance. He made a guttural noise of desire seconds before his tongue touched my clit.

Need slammed through me, and I undulated against his mouth. His fingers dug into my thigh, and his groan vibrated through me.

Oh my God!

He suckled my clit, pulling on it hard, and I panted as beautiful tension built deep inside me. His tongue circled my clit and then slid down in a dirty voracious lick before pushing inside me.

“Michael!” I cried, thrusting against his mouth as I climbed higher and higher toward breaking apart completely.

Feeling my desperation, Michael returned to my clit and gently pushed two fingers inside of me.

It hit like an explosion of fiery, spine-tingling stars, release sliding deliciously through me as I shuddered against Michael’s mouth.

He gently lowered my trembling leg, and I swayed against him as he stood. Rather than being languid with satisfaction, I was buzzing with longing. Like I was still on the precipice of orgasm. I needed more.

A thrilling feeling of power overwhelmed me as our eyes locked. His smoldered, and his jaw was set with a ferocious hunger. I did that to him.

Me.

I lifted my arms to help him raise my sweater over my head.

My chest heaved with my labored, excited breaths as Michael threw the sweater to the floor and brought his hands to my shoulders. His eyes followed his fingertips as they trailed with excruciating slowness across my collarbone and down toward the rise of my breasts. They were still full, large, but they didn’t sit as perky as they once had when we were younger. I worried for a millisecond that when my bra came off, he’d notice, he’d care—

“Still so beautiful,” he whispered, and goose bumps prickled in the wake of his touch. My nipples peaked against my bra with anticipation.

“Michael,” I murmured.

In answer to my needy plea, he gripped my hips and pulled me against him so I could feel the steel of his erection against my bare stomach.

Gently, he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me so deeply, I could taste myself. But these kisses weren’t like before. Not kisses of punishing hunger. Slow, sexy, and with tender reverence that brought tears to my eyes. My hands curled around his biceps, feeling his strength, his longing, and I didn’t know what I wanted to do more: take him inside me or let him hold me while I cried.

The voice in the back of my head whispered that going any further was a