Crazy for Loving You: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(80)

“I can’t let you go,” I confess softly.

I can’t.

This isn’t a fast boom-bang-bye.

This is West.

He’s been my rock.

And I want to be his rock. I want to be the person he calls when he has a problem. I want to be the voice he needs to hear before he goes to sleep at night. I want to be the last naked body he wants to see for the rest of his life.

Oh, god.

I want him to love me as much as I love him.

The realization swells out of my chest and makes my arms and legs tingle.

It’s too big.

Too much.

And yet so right.

He’s studying me with dark eyes ringed in emerald. “You want me.”

“I don’t understand how any woman couldn’t.”

A wry smile darkens his face. “I’m very boring.”

“You are not.” I shove his shoulder until he rolls off me, and I follow him so I’m on top, tugging his shirt off.

He dutifully lifts his arms. “I am.”

And as soon as he’s tangled with his arms stuck in his shirt over his head, I scoot back down so I’m straddling that glorious hard-on and cradle it between my thighs while I lick a trail around the outline of his tattoos.

“Fuck, Daisy,” he gasps.

“You are not boring. You’re hilarious.”

“You’re—christ, that feels so good—the only—oh, fuck yes—person who thinks—so.”

“Huh. I’m the smart one for once.”

“You’ve always been—” he cuts himself off with a strangled moan.

Probably because I pinch his nipples and rock against his erection and lick his hot, flat stomach with its gorgeous artwork. We need to lose our pants. And then I need to suck on his cock until he can’t remember his own name, and then I’m going to treat him to a full striptease that’ll have him hard again in two minutes.

I’m going to make love to this man all night long.

“Westley?” I whisper as I lick my way up his throat.

“Yes?”

“You make me feel alive.”

He catches my face before I can attack his mouth again. “You have more life in your pinky than most people have in their entire families.”

“But you make my heart feel alive.”

The words slip out before I can stop them.

And I don’t think I would’ve stopped them even if I could.

Not when it makes that soft smile creep over his lips while he lifts his head to rub his nose against mine. “You make me feel not boring.”

“I drive you crazy.”

He pumps his hips against mine. “You do.”

We’re both laughing as I claim his mouth again, because I’ll continue to drive him crazy, and he’ll continue to tolerate me stoically, but I have this feeling he hasn’t had fun in his life in too long.

Oldest child. Marine. Dating single mothers.

He needs me. Because I don’t need him. Not to be a second adult in the house. Not to take overnight duty. Not to fix a squeaky hinge or chase cats out of pools.

I just want him.

So bad I almost can’t breathe at the thought of him not being here.

His tongue delves deeper into my mouth, his hands roaming while I stroke his beard, then his neck, and lower.

I need him out of his shorts.

Outside in the rain.

Dancing in the ocean.

Playing unicorn jousting in my pool.

Fixing me peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches.

Oh, god, I am so in love with this man.

His hands slip under my pants, and he freezes for half a second.

I smile into his kiss. “Whoops. Forgot to do laundry.”

“You did not.”

“Okay, I didn’t. Are you horrified?”

His fingers drift lower, down my crack, exposing my ass until he’s stroking a finger along my seam. “So fucking turned on,” he growls.

I whimper as his finger dips into my channel, because yes.

“So wet,” he murmurs, holding my gaze captive and fucking me with his finger. “Christ, you feel like heaven. Do you taste as good?”

I jerk against his hand, my breath ragged, my heart completely obliterated. “Maybe if you’re good, you can find out later.”

He grins. “I can be good.”

“Wait. Maybe if you’re bad, you can find out later. Ohmygod, don’t stop.”

“This?” he asks, pulling his finger all the way out.

I whimper. “Yes.”

“Now?” He traces my ass with both hands while I rub myself shamelessly over the steel rod still behind too many layers of fabric. “Maybe I want you to stroke me first before I give you any more.”

“You—distracted me.”

“With this?” he slides a finger inside me again, and I moan.

“Yes.”

“I can’t seem to help myself. Such a sweet, hot pussy.”

Westley Jaeger. Dirty-talker. I did not see that coming, but I probably should’ve.

And it takes an act of heroic strength, but after shamelessly thrusting into his touch three more times, I wiggle out of his reach and down his body to peel his shorts back.

“You—” he starts, but I bend and lick at the tip of his magnificent cock, and whatever he was going to say is lost in a rumble of thunder that’s either him groaning, or the storm outside, and I’m not sure which.