Life In Reverse(66)

“You came back…,” I mumble, stunned, messy tears crawling down my skin. “You chose life.” My breathing speeds up as his head dips down until his lips are inches from mine.

“No, Ember.” He brushes his fingertips across my cheek. “I chose you. I love—you.”

And then he kisses me.

His hands dive into my hair, fingers tangling through the wavy strands. The warm press of his lips, the soft sweep of his tongue, the way he holds me—it’s as if there is nothing else that exists beyond right now. The world falls away for me too, save for the sound of our breaths mingling, our hearts beating too hard in our chests.

He eases out of my mouth, his hot breath pouring over my ear and goose bumps prickle my skin. I’m suddenly too warm, my clothes too tight, my skin too wanting—and God, do I want him. His hands slip under my shirt, calloused fingertips brushing over my skin and I shudder.

“Are you… hungry at all? I made food.” My voice is unsteady, breath coming in short pants as his tongue slides along my neck.

“I am….” He blows lightly over the wetness left behind and I shiver. “But I have everything I want to eat right here.”

“I can’t believe you just said that.” I moan, his grin soaking into my skin.

“I have a feeling you’re going to be thinking that a lot tonight.” My pulse skyrockets, the space between my legs growing warm. “I want to do dirty things to you.” He nips my ear. “You don’t mind dirty. Do you, Mickey?” His voice is a low rasp and everything inside me melts. I’m dying to feel him under my fingers. Sliding my arms around his waist, I wedge my hands under the seam of his shirt, dragging my fingertips up and down, back and forth over the curve of his spine. Ridges of lean muscle contract under my touch. His skin is smooth and I want to feel every inch of him. I let my fingertips drift lower, and he shivers when my hand slips under the waistband of his jeans.

“Let’s go upstairs,” I murmur, pulling his hips to mine. His lips continue to set fire to my skin.

Without warning, he throws me over his shoulder like I weigh absolutely nothing. “I’m a little anxious now,” he admits, and I laugh until his strong hand starts massaging my ass. Then I can’t seem to focus on anything but the fact that I want that hand between my legs and our clothes off as soon as is humanly possible.

“You’re awfully quiet there, Mickey,” he says, and I smile as I hang over his back, breathing in the scent of his soap and admiring his legs as they stride up the stairs.

“Just enjoying the view.”

He chuckles, squeezing me harder. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Once we make it past my door, Vance sets me down. I walk over to flick on the dim lamp beside my bed, his eyes following me around the room. “So,” I glance up at him with a coy smile, “clothes or no clothes.”

Vance grins, stalking over to me. His grin alone makes me crazy and my body burns with anticipation. In front of me now, he brushes the backs of his fingers down the front of my t-shirt, grazing the tip of my nipple. That faint touch sends me reeling. “Definitely no clothes.” Grasping the hem of my shirt, he lifts it up and over my head. He tosses it behind him and his eyes glaze over when he sees my black lace bra. The two hours I spent agonizing over it seems to have paid off. “Fuck.” He swallows, raising a finger to toy with the edge of the lace and a slight tremble racks my body. His gaze reaches up to mine. “Nervous?”

“A little,” I reply honestly, weaving my fingers through the fine strands of his hair.

His smile holds a sweetness that quiets my nerves. “We’ve already seen each other naked.” He taps a palm over my heart. “In here.” Taking hold of my other hand, he says softly, “The rest of it, well, it’s just a bonus.” My fingers float down from his temple, trailing along his jaw. “Fuck, Ember. If it helps, I’m nervous too. Nothing has ever mattered to me this much and I want to do right by you.” With every word that comes out of his mouth, I fall a little bit harder for him.

I pull his face down to mine, my lips sliding over his until he opens and the tips of our tongues touch. It’s an explosion of feeling and desire that makes my hand wander to the front of his jeans, rubbing over his erection. He groans, arching into my hand.

“Fuck,” he curses again. His fingers fumble with my bra strap and I laugh because it takes him so long I almost offer to do it myself.

“Smooth, Davenport,” I tease when he finally flicks it open, easing it down my arms.

“Your tits are perfect.” His stare brands my skin, gaze alone making my nipples hard.

“They’re small,” I counter with a grin.

“Fuck that. They’re perfect.” He lowers his head to swirl his tongue around the tight peak. The wet warmth makes me moan and my knees go weak. “I want to taste you.” His tongue continues to flick across the tip. “I want to know what feels good to you,” he murmurs, licking and sucking until my head falls back, giving in to the tingles racing over my skin.

His hands are everywhere, spanning my back, my hip, my waist, as he uses his mouth until I’m barely able to stand up. He bends, his tongue forging a trail along the length of my stomach and my legs quiver. Without realizing it, I find my hands tugging at his hair.

He looks up at me with a knowing smile. “Something you want?”