Chapter 22 #2
thigh even as the top of her dress spilled open.
The bustier bra did a decent job of keeping her girls in line, but it was a sonofabitch to get on and off. She hadn’t really thought about that when she’d agreed to come to his place.
Gavin, though, didn’t seem to mind. He drank in all of her—half in, half out of her gown.
Meanwhile, he was still all in his tuxedo, which was not fair. Not fair at all.
She pulled open the lapel, slipping his jacket down his arms and tossing it to the sofa. He undid the necklace, placing it gently on the entry table near a lamp.
And then Gavin was already working on his cufflinks, and she should probably lose the shoes and the rest of her dress.
Yes, most definitely.
Unfortunately, since they were both working on their
clothing, there wasn’t a lot of touching happening.
No, she definitely needed more touch. This whole undressing themselves thing wasn’t working for her.
So she let her gown pool around her feet, left her shoes on, and went about unbuttoning his shirt for him.
He got the message, apparently, because, in turn, he began undoing the long trail of bustier hooks at her back. To be totally honest, as long as his hands were on her, she didn’t really care how he changed his lightbulbs.
She also didn’t care how they had gotten to this point.
Because it didn’t particularly matter anymore.
What mattered was that they were here and, at least for now, they were together. She welcomed his strength to her softness.
“What do you want?” he asked, pulling back, letting the choice be hers.
That was the problem with choices, though. One could say yes or one could say no. One could say right or one could say left.
In this case, all she wanted was to have him ease that ache that had started near her sternum and radiated down to her toes.
“I want you,” she murmured, barely taking her mouth from his. “I don’t even know who you are, but I want you.”
“I’m Gavin,” he said against the skin of her jawline. Pressing butterfly kisses as he moved along the curve of her cheek.
“No.” She groaned as he sucked her earlobe. “I don’t think I like Gavin. But I’m becoming a big fan of whoever you are.”
“Maybe you just didn’t know the real Gavin?” He continued his exploration, along the line of her ear, up to her hairline.
She pulled back then, her eyes searching his, his expression one of total surrender.
“Who is the real Gavin, then?” Dang, those words were breathy and husky and dipped in sin.
“Let’s find out together,” he said.
“Gavin,” she said, acknowledging the deep down need he apparently had to hear his name on her lips. To know it was him she sought, even if she didn’t know exactly who he was.
Hell, she wasn’t even sure who she was anymore. Not really.
“Molly.” He gave her the same in return.
She pulled back, searching his face, pressing her palms against his arms.
“Please,” she said, in a voice that barely sounded like her own.
And then there were no more words. There was only feeling and touch and the way their skin sounded moving against the other.
She wanted to make a joke about something—she couldn’t remember what because the punchline got lost somewhere between his lips and his bedroom.
Because somehow, during the make-out session to end all make-out sessions, they were on a bed—his bed.
The feeling was frantic and pulsing, as though both of them had waited for this moment. Waited for it knowing that it would end and when that happened there would be nothing but distance.
So when he slowed, when he took his time finishing
unbuttoning his shirt, it felt as though she might come apart at the seams of herself. Those invisible places in her she’d never realized existed.
Sex wasn’t like this. It may have been a while for her, but she’d definitely had sex before. This was something beyond the meeting of two bodies to find a release.
Sex was always fun, and it’d been fulfilling, but never something she craved.
Never this. Never Gavin. Gavin.
Holy crap.
She couldn’t let herself loose like this with Gavin.
She began to sink back into herself, the feeling of who she was overtaking the feelings of what he was doing to her.
“Gav—”
He must’ve heard the plea in her tone because his movement became less frantic. Less…everything.
He pressed up over her, panting, breathing heavy. And he looked…sorry.
She opened her mouth to speak. “I—”
“No.” He shook his head, cutting her off and severing whatever she was about to say.
“What?” she asked.
“You don’t get to do that.” His jaw ticked. “You don’t get to hand yourself over to me and then take it away. You don’t get to take you away.” He shifted the slightest bit. “I did not come to this moment to finally get you, only to lose you.”
He looked as though he might combust.
Which was, of course, concerning, given that he was full
court pressed straight against her.
“I haven’t been with anyone for nine years,” she whispered, fully exposing herself.
The heaviness of his manhood pressed against the secret place of her as he stilled.
“Molly?” he asked, a serious case of concern replacing the desire from earlier.
“I mean.” She licked at her lips. Not that she wanted to totally extinguish the desire. He should just…know.
He still didn’t move. Not. An. Inch.
“Other than my nightstand buddy. Don’t worry, he visits me regularly.” She went for levity.
What else was she supposed to say?
Still, the hardness of him pressed against the softness of her as a whole slew of emotions played across his face.
She squirmed. She couldn’t help it.
“Has it ever been like this?” he asked, his voice laced with something that sounded a helluva lot like fear.
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “No.”
“Because it’s right,” he said, earnest. “This is us. It’s right.”
“How do you know? What if it isn’t?”
And then she couldn’t say anything else because he pushed himself up, holding his palms up in the position of surrender.
“I’m sorry.” He moved off of her. “So sorry. I misunderstood…”
He didn’t. He hadn’t. Yet, she wasn’t sure precisely what was happening. What had happened? What would happen?
But that didn’t seem to matter anymore. She grabbed at his shirt. “Gavin.”
He stilled. She didn’t move. They both heaved breaths as their lungs worked overtime while her mind played all sorts of tricks on her.
Was this real? Could it be?
What was she supposed to do?
“What am I supposed to do?” he asked, totally exposed.
Unmasked.
What were either of them supposed to do?
She stared at the man she was so sure she knew, but really hadn’t. The man ready and willing to be…hers.
She gulped.
“What am I supposed to do?” he asked again, lower, unsure.
“Come inside.” Two hands gripped his shirt as she pulled him to her. Poured herself into a kiss that she hoped would add clarity to a very fuzzy situation.
Two words. That’s all it took for him to take over. And, whoo boy, did he take over.
His hands pulled at her. His hardness pressed against her thigh. And, dear God, his mouth owned every inch of hers.
There was no him and her. There was only them.
A brilliant them that made her wish she could record every second.
But that would be weird. And probably illegal.
Instead, she simply let him do what he did. Let him kiss and tug and pull.
And for the first time in years, she let herself…feel.
Let her body move against his. Her legs wrap around his waist. Her core pulse where he thrust.
Until—and she wasn’t sure how this happened—she was totally naked and pressed underneath Gavin Frank.
Yes, she knew the logistics of how it actually happened.
She was just so in his grip that time was relative.
Her mouth still working against his, her body writhing with his, he slipped on a condom and met her gaze like a question.
Was she sure?
She pressed herself to him, pulled him so he aligned with her body and urged him inside.
That’s all it took. All the encouragement he needed before he reminded her just exactly how much fun sex could be.