Hitched(40)

That’s one request I will never—ever—deny her. Never again.

I cradle her head while I lower my lips to hers, intending to make every moment count tonight. I don’t want to just make love to her body.

I want to make love to her heart.

To her mind.

To her soul.

I want this kiss, this touch, this press of our bodies, to show her that I’m here.

Forever and always.

Whatever she needs. Whenever she needs it.

Her fingers smooth up my shoulders to tease through my hair while I make a leisurely exploration of her mouth, coaxing low, happy hums from her throat while our tongues glide together, teasing and savoring instead of clashing.

She pulls me deeper into the kiss, and I follow, because I’ll go anywhere with this woman.

She’s had my heart since that moment in Vegas when she lifted sad eyes to mine and asked if I wanted to sit with a loser who couldn’t finish what she started.

We’d been friends in high school, pretty good ones—attending the same float trips and lock-ins with various clubs—but I’d never seen her with her guard down. Never seen capable Hope St. Claire so vulnerable. I’d instantly wanted to fix everything for her, to be the reason she found her happiness again.

I’d wanted to make her smile—just once, to prove that there was still good in the world and she could find it.

That kiss though—that first kiss.

It was like my first sip of good wine.

Life-changing. Paradigm-shifting.

And I know she felt it too. We’d only had a couple of drinks at that point. It was the kisses—not the booze—that inspired her proposal mere hours later.

This kiss is the same.

No holding back. No worries about the past or the future.

Just the two of us, connecting so raw and deep that I feel her touch all the way to my marrow. She tugs on my tee, and I slip my hands under her top.

Her skin on my skin is just— It’s like wine made from grapes grown on my own land, so singularly sweet, unique, and hard-won that I could never mistake them for anything other than mine.

Just like her.

And I only want more.

Her hands flatten over my stomach, and I break the kiss just long enough to pull my tee over my head while she dips her head and licks my chest.

“Hope,” I gasp.

“Do me next,” she orders.

I don’t have to be asked twice, and I’m smiling while I grip the edges of her wispy shirt and lift it over her head.

“Peach,” I say, tracing the edge of that glorious lace bra.

My tongue follows my fingers, and I let the sound of her ragged breath be my guide, taking liberties with lowering her bra straps while I lick every inch of her breasts above the cups.

She arches her chest up, offering me more, her hands gripping my hair and holding me right where I am. “Blake,” she gasps, “take it off.”

In a wink, I’ve unhooked her bra, and her breasts come free, those pert rosy nipples just begging for kisses.

“So damn beautiful,” I murmur. “I’ve missed you two.”

A breathy laugh slips through her lips. “They’ve missed you too.”

I graze my teeth over her nipple, and her knees buckle. “Blake.”

“I’ve got you, baby.” I help her to the sleeping bag and lay her on her back, kissing and stroking and indulging in that fantasy of loving her slowly all over.

Taking my time.

Learning her body again.

Whispering her name, letting her direct me, I help her out of those tight jeans and her matching peach lace panties, kissing my way down her legs, and back up again, until I’m worshipping her between her legs with my tongue. Her gasps get higher, her breath more ragged, until my bride comes undone with my name on her lips.

“I missed this pussy,” I murmur as I kiss my way back up her body.

“She missed your mouth,” she confesses shyly.

“Just my mouth?”

“So much more than just your mouth.” She’s barely speaking above a whisper now, like the words are physically painful, and I want to promise her I’ll never hurt her ever again.

That I’ll only make her feel good. Protect her and her animals.

Be the man she needs.

I don’t know what’s holding her back, but I’ll love her until she’s willing to tell me. And then whatever it is, I’ll keep loving her.

I can’t imagine ever not loving this woman again.

“Did she miss my Dildo Shaggins?” I whisper.

Hope laughs, her skin glowing, her eyes taking on a sparkle again. “You’re way better than Dildo Shaggins.”

“I don’t know, he might have a quarter inch on me.”

She pushes me onto my back and reaches for my button. “But you’re so much thicker than he is,” she says, reaching into my pants and stroking my aching cock, which is now preening under her praise too.

Yeah, eating her turns me on.

But this is about her.

Not the animal in my pants.

“Hope—” I gasp out as she circles my head with her thumb.

Her eyes lift to mine, full of vulnerability and need. “I want all of you tonight.”

“I’m yours. All yours.” And I’m already fumbling for a condom in my wallet, because though I could happily wait all night—despite what my cock currently thinks—I want to be ready when she is.