The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(54)

He wasn’t sure who lunged first—all he knew was that suddenly, they were in the middle of a no-holds-barred, tongue-to-tonsils, melt-your-socks-off kiss that left him breathless and fuzzy-brained. “Brooke.”

“Hmmm?”

She had her hot mouth on his throat, her equally hot hands running up and down his chest and abs, toying with his button fly. “How much did you have to drink?” he managed to ask, catching her wandering hands.

This didn’t stop her lips, which were spreading hot, open-mouthed kisses along the rough scruff of his jaw and his neck. When she licked at the hollow of his throat, he nearly had an aneurysm. “Bee.”

She lifted her head, eyes at half-mast, mouth wet. “Two. Enough to be feeling nice and friendly toward you, but not enough for you to be worried.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I’m consenting. Would you like it in writing?” she asked, tone pure smart-ass.

He let out a rough laugh. “I should.”

“And how about you? Are you consenting?”

He reached out to pull her back down and kiss her again, but she held off, waiting on his answer.

He had to laugh. “Hell yes, I’m consenting. Open-endedly.”

“That’s not a word. And this is just a one-time thing,” she said softly.

At the same words they used to say to each other all the time, their eyes met and held. It’d been bullshit then, and it was bullshit now, but he just smiled grimly. “Worried I’m going to fall for you?” he murmured.

She rocked against him. “Are you?”

He could hardly breathe for wanting her. “Never again.”

“Honest to the end, huh?”

“Always,” he said, tugging her face to his for another heart-stopping kiss before letting himself touch her everywhere he could reach, knowing he could’ve recognized her body by the feel of her alone. She was wedged between his chest and the steering wheel so they were nose to nose, belly to belly, her inner thighs hugged up to the outsides of his. Which lined up all their parts in a way that made thinking difficult. And then difficult became utterly impossible when she slid her hands beneath his shirt to touch him skin to skin, rocking her hips to his.

When he groaned, she popped open the buttons on his Levi’s one at a time and wrapped her hands around his current favorite body part with a sexy little hum.

The blood in his brain veered south to where all the fun was, leaving his head spinning. “Not here,” he managed to growl out. “I want you in my bed.” He nipped her bottom lip. “I’ve spent a lot of nights dreaming of you there.”

“I love your bed, but I’m not taking that risk.”

“My bed’s a risk?” he asked.

“Yes, because by the time we get there, one of us will remember the stick up one of our asses and change their mind.”

He snorted. “If anyone in this truck has a stick up their ass, it’s not me.”

She tugged at his drenched shirt. “Off.”

He decided not to argue with the hot chick sitting in his lap wanting him naked, and tugged his drenched shirt over his head. It hit the back seat with a wet thunk, and then he made sure hers did the same, grateful he’d parked at the far edge of the lot where the lights didn’t reach. Her bra came loose in his fingers, and he sent that flying to join their shirts, filling his hands with her breasts. Her skin was chilled, and he worked hard at warming her up, pulling her in closer, encouraging her to rock against him.

She did, and bent low to press her mouth to the tat on his chest.

It was a good thing he was sitting down, because she made his legs weak. She was in the driver’s seat—literally—and all he knew was that he needed this mindless, shockingly easy passion every bit as much as she seemed to. Every part of this, the feel of her beneath his hands, the scent of her, the little panting breaths she was making, her clear need for him . . . it all felt like a homecoming. His dead heart beat in his chest for her, making him feel things he’d thought were long gone. Which meant he was so much more messed up than he’d thought. He just hoped to God she couldn’t read all that off him, and more so that he could control his feelings and move past them. But then her hands drew a slow line up his chest to encircle his neck, and she smiled at him, a smile that went all the way to her eyes.

No matter what she wanted him to believe, she wasn’t giving off the vibes of a frenzied hookup. “Brooke—”

She kicked off her shoes and started to wriggle out of her shorts, her eyes hungry. Raw. She was baring herself to him, not just her body, and he lent his hands to the cause, stripping off her shorts. Bracing herself with her hands on his chest, she looked down at him, clearly taking pleasure from his body, which was more than gratifying because he certainly couldn’t take his gaze off her. Nor his hands.

Apparently feeling the same, she slid her fingers into his hair, tightened her grip, and closed her teeth over his full lower lip, tugging lightly.

“Reenactment?” he asked, voice gruff with emotion as he reminded them both that their first time had been in his truck—not this one, but a real POS, missing the back windshield—and it’d been storming that night, too.

It’d been one of the best nights of his life.

“You remember,” she murmured.

“I remember everything about you, Bee. About us.”