The Wrong Kind of Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 1) - Page 71

After I park in the garage, we walk inside, the silence tense between us. We shed our coats, turn, and stare at each other.

“Thank you again for tonight,” she says.

I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “The pleasure was mine, Nic.” I take a breath. “I’m pretty sure this is where a gentleman kisses his date goodnight so she’ll spend the rest of her night thinking about him.”

“But you’re not going to do that?” she asks.

My gaze drops to her mouth. “I want to, but a gentleman would kiss you and walk away, and I already know a kiss won’t be nearly enough.” Before she can reply, I cup her face in both hands and lower my mouth to hers.

I don’t intend for this to be a soft, sweet kiss. I need for her to feel all the longing I’ve had bottled in my chest since the day she showed up on my porch. I pass my lips across hers and sweep my tongue over her plump bottom lip. When she opens her mouth beneath mine, I slide my hands into her hair and pull her against me.

“What are we doing?” she whispers against my mouth.

“We’re taking advantage of an empty house.”

She puts her hand against my chest and looks up at me. “Is this some sort of test, Ethan? Are you going to be disappointed in me tomorrow if I don’t stop you?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

She studies my face, and I swear I can’t breathe until she shakes her head. “I don’t. But I don’t want you to be angry with me. Or with yourself.”

“The only way I’m going to be angry with myself tomorrow is if I let you walk away without touching you again.”

She slides a hand behind my neck and lifts onto her toes to press her lips to mine. “You’re sure?”

I answer by pulling her shirt off over her head and unzipping her skirt. When it falls from her hips, she steps out of it. Then she’s in front of me in the cowboy boots she was wearing the first night we met, light pink panties, and a bra. “It’s like you walked out of my fantasies.”

She unbuckles my belt and unzips my pants. “What else do I do in your fantasies?”

I still her hands with mine. “Not tonight,” I say, my voice low and husky. “You deserve to be worshipped on your birthday. Don’t make this about me.”

“Can’t I have what I want? Since it’s my birthday?”

Her hand slides under my waistband and I draw in a breath through my teeth. “Anything you want.”

“What if I want this?” She drops to her knees in front of me—like a fucking dream—and drags my pants down my hips until my cock springs free. She slides her tongue down the length of me before opening her mouth and taking me deep.

I fist a hand in her hair, trying not to jut my hips, trying not to fuck her mouth, but Christ, her mouth is good.

She pulls back, releasing me, and looks up at me through her lashes.

“It’s your birthday. Not mine.” I’m shaking. I want her mouth on me, and I want my hands on her. I want to feel her and make her moan, and I want to take everything she offers.

“And this is exactly what I want.” She puts her mouth on me again, stroking me with her tongue as one hand cups my balls and the other grabs my ass.

I lean my head back and grit my teeth. I’m trying not to blow my load like a teenage boy getting his first blowjob, but it feels too damn good. Every time she moans, a vibration ricochets through me, sending pleasure in a hot bolt down my spine.

When I can’t take it anymore, I guide her off me. Her lips are swollen, her eyes hazy with need. I want to spin her around and fuck her against the wall. I want to hear those noises she makes when she’s turned on, want to get inside her as fast as possible.

Instead, I strip her bare—unhooking her bra and sliding it off her arms and peeling her lacy panties from her hips. She grins at me as she toes out of her boots, and I take her to the couch, sit, and guide her to straddle me. Her breasts are full, her nipples hard, and I lick each one. She rocks against me, her slick heat right against my bare cock.

“We need a condom,” I say. I’m a simple shift of my hips away from sliding inside her without one, and as much as I want that, I know it’s a bad idea. “I have some in my—” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Shit.”

She rocks against me again, and I have to grit my teeth to resist the urge to take this further. I grab her hips roughly and still her movements. If she keeps doing that, I’m going to make a bad fucking decision about what happens next.

Tags: Lexi Ryan Boys of Jackson Harbor Romance
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