Sweet Cheeks(52)

I know without a doubt that snap will sting, but for some reason I have a feeling when it comes to Hayes Whitley, the sting might just be worth it.

Another step.

Predator toward prey.

“Can’t do what?” My voice is barely a whisper. The tight buds of my nipples press against my thin bikini top and communicate what the rasp of my voice can’t. I want you. Kiss me. I only want to think about here. And now. And the way you make me feel.

His chuckle is soft. Low. Strained. He’s closer now. Within touching distance. He reaches out to the bowl beside us on the counter, runs a finger around the edge of it, and brings it to his lips. He waits to make sure I’m watching him as he sucks the batter from it. And damn it to hell if the groan he makes when he pulls his finger from his mouth doesn’t pluck on the strings of desire running throughout me.

“What can’t we do, Hayes?” I ask again. Have to. I need an answer to know if what I think he’s saying and what I want him to be saying are the same damn thing.

Another step.

He withdraws his finger from his mouth as he angles his head and holds my gaze. Waiting. Gauging. Anticipating. I can feel the heat of his body. Hear his steady inhale of breath. And I’m more than ready for his touch when he reaches out and places his hand on the side of my neck.

“Everything.” He licks his lips, glances down to my mouth, and then back up to my eyes as his thumb rubs ever so slightly over my collarbone. “And nothing.”

“Oh.” My mind spins. My body aches. Every part of me wants.

“This is a bad idea.”

He leans in and brushes his lips against mine. It’s just a simple taste of a kiss but with that singular action my reasons disappear, my heart tumbles, and my body aches for him.

“A terrible idea,” I murmur and this time I take the initiative and kiss him back. A soft part of the lips. A barely there brush of tongues.

“Horrible,” he whispers before matching the depth of my kiss and adding to it. His other hand comes up to frame the side of my face, his thumb resting just beneath the line of my jaw so he can control the angle of the kiss.

“Awful.” Our bodies mesh the same time our tongues do. His body still hot from his run. Still firm. Still slick with sweat.

“Stupid,” he whispers. A slight smile forming on his lips before he dives back in to taste and take. Taunt and tantalize. Demand and offer.

I moan. Can’t help that I do because there’s a dominating tenderness to his kiss. A forgiving relentlessness. A desperate calmness. There’s no rush to it. No hurry to get to the next part.

Thoughts escape me with each dance of our tongues. With each tug on my bottom lip by his. With each soft directive of his lips moving against mine.

My hands skim up the sides of his torso, loving the feel of the bunching of his muscles beneath my palms. He fists a hand in my hair and changes the angle of the kiss. Choreographs the next step in our slow dance of desire.

“Saylor.” My name on his lips in that gravelly tone scrapes over me. Drags me from the haze his kisses have pulled me under. He leans back so our eyes can meet.

Seconds pass. Questions, wants, needs, flicker through his eyes. Should we? Can we? How is this happening again?

His jaw pulses. His dick is hard against my hip. His waning control reflected in the tightening of his fingers in my hair.

My lips part. Yes. Yes.

Because it’s us.

But I can’t give the answers because I’m silenced by the moment and by the bright burn of arousal coursing through my body. By the need to want and the want to need this connection with him.

By acknowledging that I love him. Probably always have.

“I’ve never been able to resist you. Not then. Not now.”

Not ever.

Our past and present collide in one sweeping moment of time. Our mouths meet again in a savage union of lips and tongue and want and desire and greed and hunger. Our hands slide and grab and feel and possess each other’s flesh.

We’re a frenzy of movements. Of not being able to touch each other quickly enough, and yet wanting to slow down and take our time with this reunion that has been years in the making.

His mouth is on the underside of my neck. His hands are pulling down the straps of my swimsuit, then palming my breasts. Thumbs run over the tips of my nipples sending a tsunami of sensation through my body.

His lips lace hungry kisses against the sensitive skin to my ear. I fumble with his shorts while he pushes down my bikini bottoms. My cool hands slide beneath the waistband to find him hot and hard and ready. My mouth falls open from his teeth scraping over my nipple while his hands are everywhere and not enough places all at the same time. The evidence of what I do to him stiff in my hand.

His hands are on my waist. My feet leave the floor, and the hard granite of the countertop is cold beneath my ass. There’s a clatter of utensils. A thud of something falling over. A plume of flour in the air. But Hayes doesn’t miss a beat. He steps between my thighs and pulls my ass to the edge so I’m perched there, needing his body to ensure I don’t fall. And then he claims my mouth again in a kiss that promises possession and surrender.

My hands are on his shoulders. His fingers feather over the entrance of my sex, part it, then slide up and back through my arousal. My head falls back. My thighs spread wider, my body instantly giving him access to every single part of me without a word.