Page 9 of Until You

chapter

three

Oliver

Our tongues collide, and the sensation pulls a growl from my throat. Everything about her is perfect. The weight of her body on my lap, her taste; a mixture of whiskey and lime, the feel of her soft skin against my palms. I run my hands around to her breasts, weighing them, plucking at the metal through her nipples. She whimpers into my mouth.

But then she lowers herself all the way onto my lap, and I feel the heat of her pussy through our clothes, and every thought I had about being sensible dissolves like sugar in rain. I stop being careful. Tongues and teeth, her fingers curl into my shirt, my hat sliding sideways on her head. It’s intense and so damn hot I could embarrass myself just from kissing her. There is exactly no world in which she doesn’t know what she’s doing to me.

She grinds herself down on the hard line of my erection. I might have permanent zipper marks when this is all said and done, but right now I don’t give a shit. When she releases a low, throaty sound into my mouth, I know—without a single doubt—she feels exactly what she’s doing to me.

I pull back and cup her face in both hands and look at her. Really look. The hat sits crooked over her hair, the diamond through her nostril glints faintly in the dark, and every tattoo I can see is just another thing I want to learn. “You are something else,” I tell her.

She smiles, slow and a little shy in a way that catches me completely off guard. “I was going to say the same thing to you, Cowboy.”

Again, I cup both of her breasts, swiping my thumbs across her nipples, careful and then not careful when she arches into the touch. She makes a sound that rearranges something in my chest.

Then her hands drop to my belt, and she gets to work.

We are absolutely doing this.

I haven’t done anything like this since I was seventeen and considerably more reckless. But this woman has driven every reasonable thought out of my head with nothing but her mouth and the way she looks in my hat.

“Condom?” she asks.

“Uh, yeah, but no judgment.”

Her brows raise.

I lean over and open the glove box, where I pull out a brand new, industrial-sized box of condoms.

“No judgment, but I do think there’s a story there,” she says.

“I have two brothers and two sisters who all think they’re fucking hilarious.”

By the time I’ve got the box in hand, she’s got my jeans undone and her hands are working into my boxers.

I rip open the box, and the square foil wrappers explode all over my truck.

She giggles. “I think we only need the one, unless you’ve got another dick hiding in here.” She runs her hand over my cock, and I groan in response.

“Just the one.”

“Feels more than sufficient.”

“Mischief,” I say, when her fingers wrap around me.

“Yeah?”

“You are so damn sexy. Sexiest woman I’ve ever met.” I drag her mouth back to mine and kiss her like I mean it. Because I do. The kiss feels enormous somehow, bigger than the truck cab, bigger than the flat dark fields stretching out around us. Like it means something, it has no business meaning between two people who haven’t even traded real names.

I manage to get the condom on—fast, because we’re moving like a brushfire and I refuse to lose my head so completely that I do something stupid.

“God, I wish we had more room,” I mutter against her throat. “There’s so much I want to do to you.”

“Like what?” she asks, her lips moving along my jaw.

This woman is going to ruin me. “I want to lay you out flat and taste every inch of you. Want to trace every one of these tattoos with my mouth and figure out where they end.” I slide a hand into her hair and grip gently. “Want to know what it feels like to have you fall apart against my tongue before I slide my dick all the way inside you.”