I Flipping Love You (Shacking Up #3)(31)

I want her wanting.

Drawing out the anticipation heightens the experience, it’s a sensual torment, a sensory override. I need her focus on my mouth, on where it is and where she wants it to be.

When I finally get to her chin, I bite, not hard, but enough that she sucks in a breath. I tip her head down and flick my tongue out, skimming her top lip. Her hand tightens on the back of my neck again and I loosen my fingers in her hair. As soon as I do, our mouths connect like two meteors colliding.

Any thought I had of finessing my way through this disappears when Rian sucks my bottom lip between hers, dragging her teeth across the skin. She presses her body against me, legs spreading wider in the sand as she shifts forward.

I’m achingly hard. I’ve been halfway there since dinner. And suddenly I have friction to complement the hardness. She runs an aggressive palm up my arm and over my shoulder, fingers back in my hair. She angles her head to the side, opening wider, tongue searching for mine.

I wonder what sex with this woman would be like. Definitely not soft, she’s too much of a battle in the middle of a storm. When I finally stroke inside the warm softness of her mouth, she groans and tries to bite my tongue.

She clambers up when I retract, both hands on my shoulders in an attempt to push me back. So I grip her waist and flip her over. She sucks in a shocked gasp when she finds herself on her back in the sand and the surf.

“What the heck!” She pushes on my chest with one hand, the other arm hooks around my neck, as if she’s fighting to force me back up but keep me close at the same time. “I’m soaked!”

“Oh yeah?” I settle between her thighs, and she stops pushing away as soon as she feels me there.

“That wasn’t very nice.” A tremor runs through her.

“The part where I saved you from the dangerous seaweed, or the part where you dragged me into the water? Or are you referring to me kissing you? Because I thought that was very, very nice, actually.” I glance up when I hear voices in the distance. I didn’t realize we’d already made it back to beach house sixty-nine. It’s only a hundred feet away, to the right.

“The part where you made me as wet as you are.”

She rolls her eyes as soon as the grin starts to form on my lips. I dip down and brush them over hers again. Her knees press hard against my hips, arms tightening around my neck.

Those voices grow steadily louder.

“Hold on.” I push up until I’m on my knees. She keeps her grip on my neck, but she doesn’t react quickly enough to keep her legs around my waist.

“I hear people,” she whispers.

I unhook her arms, turn around and crouch down. “Hop on.”

“What?”

“Hop on. I’ll carry you back.” There’s a moment of hesitation before she climbs up and links her ankles at my waist. I nab the takeout, my messenger bag—which thankfully didn’t get wet—and our shoes, and jog across the beach.

It’s mostly dark inside the house, apart from the light on the second-story deck and a faint glow coming from the kitchen.

“Do you think your sister locked the sliding door?” I ask when we reach the stairs to the deck.

“Unlikely, and I know I didn’t,” she replies, her expression chagrined.

“It’s a pretty safe beach and there’s an alarm system in the house. I’ll show you how to arm it.” I’d forgotten earlier, too preoccupied with her unexpected appearance.

She’s right, the door is unlocked. The air conditioning hits us when we step inside and Rian shivers.

I survey the living room, tidy apart from the rumpled blanket on the couch. “Where’s your sister?”

“She was sleeping when I left, and she wouldn’t go anywhere without letting me know.” She meets my questioning gaze with a hot one of her own, despite the fact that her teeth are chattering.

“We should get you out of those wet clothes.”

“What about your wet clothes?” Her grin turns saucy.

“We should get me out of them too, I suppose.” I hadn’t planned on taking this much further than a kiss, but my hard-on seems to have other plans.

“Come on.” I grab her hand, dropping the takeout and my messenger bag on the kitchen counter before I lead her down the hall to the laundry room. My logic: While our clothes dry, Rian and I can get to know each other better—with our hands and mouths.

Typically I enjoy working my way up to sex with a woman. I don’t get a thrill out of one-night stands. I like prolonged anticipation, drawing it out over several dates. A long kiss good night, a message that I enjoyed myself, a call to set up another date, maybe rounding second and third base after a nice romantic dinner, and then eventually, they’re the ones begging me to get naked. This isn’t ego talking, and it isn’t a game—it’s human reaction to delayed gratification and attraction. Rian is proving to be a challenge, because all I can think about is getting my mouth on hers again and my hands on her skin. Forget prolonging anticipation.

As soon as we pass through the door, she closes it without turning on a light.

Rian slips a hand under my shirt. “My God, there are so many ridges under here. Where’s the light?”

I slap the wall a couple of times until we’re both blinded.

Rian glances around and frowns. “This isn’t my bedroom.”