Accidental Tryst (Charleston #1)(70)

She nods though something flickers over her expression. "I know."

I'm starting to feel like this was a bad idea. That I might start something I can't finish.

Or won't finish.

"You don't want to do this, do you?" she asks, looking disappointed.

I blow out a breath and stuff my fingers in my jeans pockets to keep them from reaching for her. I do. I want it so badly. I'm selfish like that. "Come touch me. Put your hand on my chest, Emmy."

She hesitates, and I wait. Then she steps up close. After a beat, she lifts her palm and lays it right in the middle, touching me for the first time. I want to close my eyes with the relief of it but can't take them off her.

Her hand is soft and cool. I imagine my skin feels heated and feverish to her, my heart beat heavy and loaded.

"Of course, I want this," I manage and revel in the feel of her hand on me. My palms itch to return the gesture. To feel her skin, the texture of it, the weight of her breasts, the tightness of her nipples. "You have freckles," I whisper as I stare down at her perfect skin, and her blue eyes go deep, dark.

"You have gold in your eyes," she says, surprised. "I thought I'd see silver."

"Are you sure about this?" I ask. I want her so much. I want to sink my hands in her hair, to touch her everywhere, taste her everywhere. And I want to not think about tomorrow, about what it will be like between us after we've exorcised days of foreplay.

"We're overthinking it," she says and cocks an eyebrow. "At least, you are. Don't." Her palm on my bare chest starts a slow descent. She licks her lips. "I'm sure. Really sure. I promise."

My stomach muscles tense, and I narrow my gaze on her saucy expression. My cock is aching against my jeans. I feel as if I have to remember how to breathe as her hand slips lower.





33





Trystan





Emmy in the dim light of her bedroom, her hair wild about her shoulders and eyes bright, is absolutely stunning.

"But you realize I'm staying the whole night, right?" she says.

"What?"

"This is my bed, and I'm not giving it up. Can you handle that?"

Her hand makes it to my groin and curves around my erection through my jeans.

"As long as you can handle that," I choke out in a half laugh.

"The general? He feels impressive, I'll admit. But"—she lifts a shoulder—"it's what you do with him that counts. You don't want him to be overshadowed by your massive ego."

I snort with laughter, my shoulders shaking. Then before I overthink it, I sink to my knees.

Emmy catches her breath at my sudden move.

I start at her ankles and run my hands up the outside of her legs, over her yoga pants. My fingers reach her thighs and continue under her oversized T-shirt, and my eyes flick up and hold her gaze as I reach the waistband, my fingers curling in against her warm, soft skin.

Her mouth parts. Her hands slip into my hair and scrape my scalp. "Your hair is so soft," she whispers.

Goosebumps break out across my body.

And I start to pull her stretchy pants down her legs, hoping to hell I've taken her underwear too, if she's wearing any. Closing my eyes, I inhale, getting a mainline hit of her scent. My next breath comes out as a groan, and I yank the pants down over her feet, and she frees one then the other, gripping my hair for balance. In the bunched material I see a scrap of pink. I’m frantic and crazed by the thought of her, the smell of her. My skin feels too tight for my body.

My hands race back up her legs.

"Trystan," she says on a shocked breath as I push her T-shirt up and feast my eyes on her.

"Your natural hair color, you never did confirm it for me," I say on a rush, pressing my nose against her. I risk a flick of my tongue, hitting slick salt and making her gasp. "God, your taste." Then I'm grabbing her around the legs and lifting, tossing her back onto the bed.

"Impatient, are you?" She's laughing but her voice is shaking.

"You have no idea." My voice isn't much better. I grab her ankles and urge her onto her stomach. "Your arse is spectacular." I crawl up her body, my hands skimming, my mouth sliding up to a firm, round butt cheek. I grab and squeeze and can't help the open-mouthed kiss and nip of my teeth.

She squeals.

"God, I love your body." I groan and push her T-shirt impatiently up her back. She helps me and pulls it over her head, though its trapped beneath her. My fingers nimbly unclasp her bra, and I push the straps apart. Suspended on my hands and knees over her, I drop my mouth to her back, running my tongue up her spine, gratified as goosebumps break out. Her skin is salty, and her breathing is hard. I know if I slip my fingers between her legs she'll be soaked. What did she say last night? Warm. Slippery. I groan in remembrance. God, a few flicks of the buttons on my jeans and I could be sinking inside of her. The thought is overwhelming, and I grit my teeth.

But there's something I need to do first.

"Turn over, Emmy." Up on my knees, I slip my arm under her torso to help her, and she turns between my legs, freeing herself from her T-shirt and bra. Her red hair is streaked across her face, and I gently brush it off her flushed cheeks. It's all I can do not to let my eyes drink from the sight of her glorious pale breasts topped with pink nipples. She'd told me they were pink last night, and I'd imagined them, but nothing prepared me for how gorgeous she is. I pull my gaze back up to her face with huge effort. Her eyes are open, honest, dark with arousal, and they look from my eyes to my mouth.