Little Lies(87)

It’s Lavender who tips her chin up and brings my mouth to hers.

My entire universe shifts back into alignment.

Her lips part, and I breathe in her forgiveness as our tongues meet on a soft stroke. I catalogue this moment: the slight weight of her body in my lap, the way her breasts press against my chest, the arch in her spine, the hum of her need vibrating through me, the uneven texture of her bottom lip where the scar is, the taste of watermelon Jolly Rancher, the smell of her sheets, her lavender shampoo, and her vanilla body lotion.

Everything about this has been inevitable—our connection a wire stretched tight to the point of snapping, but with enough strength to survive the tension. We’ve been traveling in a figure eight, passing each other until we finally got the timing right and met in the middle.

The calm I haven’t experienced in years merges with a desire so all-consuming, it feels like I’m melting from the inside. Lavender’s hands slide under the hem of my shirt, pushing the fabric up. She breaks our kiss and tugs it over my head, then removes her shirt. Her bra is the color of her name. It’s made of satin and lace, pretty, delicate.

She takes my hand and places it over her heart—which also means I’m palming her breast—and mirrors the action with her own hand. A small smile tips the corner of her mouth, and she whispers, “Your need is my need.”

It breaks the heavy tension filling the space around us, but only for a few seconds, because we lean in at the same time, mouths connecting once again. I explore her curves, the dip at her waist, the swell of her breasts, and I reach between her shoulder blades to flick the clasp on her bra.

Part of me wants to rush, to get inside her and seal the connection that’s never dissipated, no matter how hard I tried to build a wall between us. You can’t keep out what makes your heart beat in the first place. But everything about the way she touches me is unhurried, slow and gentle, and I respond in kind, stripping down until we’re bared for each other.

She pulls the cover back, and we stretch out on her sheets, legs tangled together, hands roaming as we sink deeper into our kiss. I smooth my palm down her stomach, and she makes the softest sound when I dip between her thighs. I lift my head, eyes on hers as I circle her clit and go lower, easing a finger inside.

Her brow pulls down, and her teeth press into her lip, so close to that scar. She places one hand against the side of my neck, and the other moves down to rest on top of mine.

“Do you want me to stop?”

She shakes her head.

“Keep going?”

“Please.”

I curl my finger, watching as her eyes soften and her breathing grows shallow and ragged. Her nails dig into the side of my neck, little punishments I hope I get to wear tomorrow on my skin.

Her hips lift and roll, her hand pressing hard on top of mine, urging me deeper. I kiss my way down her body and bury my face between her legs, licking up the length of her, desperate to swallow her down and have the taste of her orgasm on my tongue.

“Oh my God!” Lavender drags in a gasping breath, and her thighs clamp against my ears as I cover her clit.

I grip her hips to keep her from wriggling away. “Too much?”

She nods, and her fingertips skim my cheek. “Be soft for me.”

I nuzzle in, lapping at her, learning her body and what she likes, what takes her higher and what pulls her away from the edge. I don’t know how long I spend with my face between her thighs, but when she comes, it’s on the sweetest sigh.

I kiss my way back up, and she wraps her legs around my waist. Pulling my mouth to hers, she makes a sound between a moan and a hmm before she breaks the kiss.

“Do you like the way I taste?” Curiosity colors her words and her expression.

I groan into a laugh. “Yes, Lavender, I like the way you taste. So much so that I will gladly eat you any time you want.”

“That’s good, because I think I’m going to want you to do that a lot.” She captures my top lip between her teeth and bites gently. “I like how much softer your tongue is than my fingers. And those sounds you make, like you’re starving for me.”

I stroke her cheek. “That’s because I have been.”

She shifts under me and makes a needy noise in the back of her throat. “Will you be in me?”

I drop my forehead to hers. “Do you want me to?”

“It’s a need, not a want.”

I don’t know why her words strip me down. “You’re sure?”

“I’ve always been sure, Kodiak.”

“Let me get a condom.” I reach for my discarded jeans, hoping I remembered to put one in my wallet.

“I’m on the pill.”

I freeze and meet her searching gaze. Questions I have no right to ask sit on my tongue.

She arches a brow in challenge. “Unless you think it’s a bad idea.”

“I haven’t . . . there hasn’t been—” I haven’t been with anyone since she arrived in Chicago. And I’ve always used condoms, but I don’t want to have to admit that to her and risk ruining this. “Condoms are safer,” I grind out. But even as I say it, I ease my hips back, the head of my cock sliding over her clit and going low until I’m nudging at her entrance.

“Just this first time, then.”

“Just this time,” I agree. I lean down to kiss her, shifting until my fingers curl around her nape so I can feel her pulse against my palm. She mirrors the movment, her breath leaving her on an unsteady exhale, the same way mine does.