The Right Swipe (Modern Love, #1)(45)

“Yeah,” she exhaled.

His hand slid over her ass. “I can’t stop thinking about it. Since I saw you again, it’s all I’ve thought about.”

“Is that right?”

“Mm-hmm. Camera’s off, yeah? Now we can get personal?” There was that blasted dimple again. “As per the terms of our contract?”

“Mine is, but I can’t guarantee other people’s are.” She shifted. “These cabanas are dry humping pods, I’m sure.”

He looked around them with disgust. “Okay, as unique as this experience is, I’m ready to leave.”

“Why don’t you walk me to my car?”

HIS BODY WOUND tighter as he followed Rhiannon to the garage where she’d parked. Some other time, he might worry about her wandering around these deserted garages by herself instead of parking at a street meter or surface lot, but not today.

He should have been anxious that he’d opened up to her as much as he had—only a select few knew such personal things about him—but the emotions that had driven him to tell her about his past had morphed into something else, something dark and heavy.

Though, to be fair, he’d been consumed with varying degrees of lust since he’d watched her walk across the rooftop, her bright blue hoodie unzipped enough to give him a peek of shadowy cleavage. When had sweatshirts become an aphrodisiac? The same time peppermint had become one, he supposed. More specifically, when he’d met Rhi.

She got into the back seat of her car, shoving the driver’s seat up and making space for him. He got inside and reached for her immediately. There wasn’t much room, but that was okay. He didn’t need much room to please her.

And he wanted to please her. He wanted to play her body like a concert violinist. He wanted her to remember tomorrow what his tongue and hands felt like, so he could do this a million times more.

He came up for air from her lips and immediately pressed kisses to her cheeks, and down her throat. His fingers went to the waistband of her pants. She wore stretchy leggings today, thank God. Jeans were stiff and inflexible and difficult to wrestle off in the confines of a back seat. He knew, because his jeans were currently strangling his dick.

“I want to lick you until you come,” he heard himself say, and the guttural, deep tone of his voice startled him. He sucked the pulse at the base of her neck. “Will you let me?”

Her yes was almost soundless, but he heard it. That thready, breathless verbalization of consent was sexier than anything on this planet. Even sweatshirts and peppermint.

She raised her hips for him, and he pulled the stretchy pants down to her ankles and then completely off, taking her panties with them. The blood rushed away from his brain.

Her legs gleamed. He ran his hands up her muscular calves and to her round thighs, and then shifted both of them. He placed one of her feet on the seat and the other on the floorboard and crouched between them on the seat.

Samson reversed his decision to get a new car. He needed his SUV for situations like this. This electric car was not built luxuriously enough for such shenanigans.

Not that he was going to let some tight quarters get in the way of Heaven. He kissed his way up her thighs to the spot between. He wanted to bury his face between her legs but he controlled his greed.

The car was dim, the only light a distant fluorescent bulb in the parking garage, but it cast an oddly romantic glow over her body. She was all these perfect shades of brown here, her black hair trimmed. He used two fingers to open her up and studied the pink revealed. He hadn’t gotten to thoroughly indulge his senses when they’d been together the last time. He probably wouldn’t get to tonight. He didn’t want to fuck her here, in such cramped quarters.

Next time. There has to be a next time.

Basically the exact words he’d thought to himself the first time he’d gone down on her That Night. He rubbed his cheek on her soft inner thigh. This passion and excitement was raw and uncomplicated and utterly untouched by all the other stuff that clouded their relationship. It was like they were new to each other.

“I should tell you, I don’t usually come from oral sex,” she said, and her matter-of-fact words jerked him out of his contemplation of her pretty pussy.

He rubbed two fingers up and down her sex. Her flesh glistened. “You came for me plenty the night we were together.”

“Not while you were . . .” Was her face red? Was Ms. World Weary blushing? “I didn’t come while you were going down on me.”

He thought back to that night, the X-rated memories making him harder. That was true. He’d either been fucking her or playing her with his fingers. “You liked it, though?” His mouth was watering, but he’d go no further if she didn’t want him to.

“I loved it. I just can’t come easily from it, and most men don’t want to stay down there forever.”

The stab of jealousy that ran through him was annoying, so he ignored it. “I’m not most men,” he murmured and licked her swollen clit.

He used his hands to grip her legs and settled in to feast, taking more space for his head and shoulders when she arched. She was silent, but he could tell by the way her thighs trembled and the way she gripped his hair that she enjoyed it.

Samson had no idea how much time had passed, but when he heard her moans, he opened his eyes and left her for a breath of air. Her skin was flushed, turning her face and neck a dark burgundy rose. The lines on her forehead were deep. “You need to come,” he said, his breath coming as fast as hers. He scraped his chin over her clit, delighting in how she jumped.