Chasing Serenity (River Rain 1)

And now, there was a fire burning in the fireplace.

But more…

The wood mantel above it, the dressers, the bedstands were all covered in various size cream candles. All of them lit. The ottoman had a brass tray on it, on which there was an ice bucket filled with champagne and two flutes.

Last, on my nightstand, there was an extraordinary bouquet of the palest pink roses I’d ever seen, and profuse petals of the same were scattered all over the bed.

Profuse as in, they almost covered it.

Champagne.

Roses.

And petals.

It was clichéd.

It was sappy.

It was everything.

I had a long moment to take it in before Judge’s hand in mine manipulated me to standing in front of him, then he walked forward, forcing me to move back.

“I got a spread downstairs all laid out,” he said quietly, eyes to my mouth. “I’ll bring it up later.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

The backs of my legs hit the bed and we stopped.

“Wracked my brain to come up with something special enough for you for our first date,” he murmured, still talking to my lips.

Oh God.

“Judge.”

I’d never heard my voice that way, it was quivering with emotion.

He lifted his gaze to mine.

“There was nothing,” he declared. “And this is hokey as fuck, but I didn’t want some restaurant doing all the work. For you, I wanted the effort to be all mine.”

Oh God.

My God.

There was no way to fight this time.

My eyes filled with tears.

His hands spanned my waist. “Now, I know I should feed you. But I can’t wa—”

“If you don’t kiss me immediately, I’m going to expire.”

I was going for authoritarian, but my voice was still quaky.

His mouth quirked. “Can’t have that.”

“Judge,” I snapped.

He made me wait no longer.

He kissed me, taking me down to the bed.

I landed in the scent of Judge and roses and honestly, it was God’s perfect bouquet.

His kiss was soft and languid and deep and wet.

His body was warm and hard and weighty.

And this, all of it, was exquisite.

When I pulled his shirt out of his jeans to get my hands on his skin, he broke the kiss.

“You wore the boots,” he murmured.

I absolutely fashioned my entire outfit around the Jennifer Chamandi booties I’d worn when we first met.

And it absolutely meant the world that he remembered them.

“Mm,” I hummed.

“So my baby can be corny too,” he whispered, the words meant to be a tease, but his expression, his tone were anything but.

“I’m bronzing these boots,” I informed him haughtily to hide how deeply all this was affecting me.

Because I knew how special he was. I knew how special he could be to me.

But I didn’t plan for him to get even more special.

“Thank fuck,” he replied.

My brows inched together. “Thank fuck I’m bronzing these boots?”

“Thank fuck every woman I was ever with blew it, so I’d end up right here, right now, with you.” He touched his mouth to mine. “The best,” he touched our lips again, “for last.”

For last.

No wonder he didn’t panic at the wisteria discussion.

“You haven’t even had me yet, chéri,” I pointed out.

“Are you the best?”

“Of course,” I replied.

“Yeah,” was all he said.

Yes.

That was all he said.

And then he kissed me again.

And he meant what he’d said.

All he’d said.

He intended our first time to be making love.

And as often as the heat he was building in me, the need, made me try to tip things to go faster (much faster), Judge kept it slow.

He kept us at tasting. Caressing. Uncovering. Stroking. Revealing. Exploring. Listening. Whispering.

The fire crackled, and with each move, the crush of petals would send up an aroma of roses.

This wasn’t making love.

He’d already created it.

We were just basking in it.

So, obviously, that made the heat increase, the need build.

And then the other thing he’d promised, that he would eat first, happened too.

I was so in the zone, warm naked skin against warm naked skin, the taste of him in my mouth, the feel of him on my fingers, the scent of him, and roses in my nose, it was almost a surprise when his lips slipped across my belly as his hand pressed my legs wide.

And he shifted down.

Other things about what we were doing shifted then too.

Enormously.

His mouth wasn’t tentative, and it wasn’t about discovery.

It was a bottom to top lash with his tongue dipping deep in between, and I stilled in response to the wonder of it.

It wasn’t just that it felt amazing.

It was a claim.

It was a brand.

The sultry feeling of my limbs slid away.

Judge tossed my legs over his shoulders in preparation, a move in and of itself that had me bracing.

And then he ate.

Now that was just amazing.

In but moments, I had an arm over my head, elbow bent, hand in the comforter, pushing me down on him, but Judge also had both his arms wrapped around my ass, pulling me down as he sucked and he licked and he nipped and his tongue thrusted.