Chapter 48
MAGGIE
In the kitchen Sloane turns on the tap and starts frantically rinsing a plate. Understanding what's happening, I reach past her and shut the tap off.
"Leave it." She still won't look at me, so I take the plate from her and set it down. "Sloane."
She turns to face me. The kitchen's dim, the last of the daylight fading at the window, and the easy confidence she's had all evening is nowhere to be found. It was her idea to come in but now that we're here, she looks a little uncomfortable.
"I can drive you back to the motel if you want," I say.
"No." Sloane swallows hard. "I don't want to go to the motel." She tucks her hair behind her ear. "It's just new and I don't really know what I'm doing." A small, embarrassed laugh. "Which is ridiculous. I'm not normally the nervous one and it's throwing me off."
I take her face in my hands. "Look, we don't have to do anything you don't want to. You can stay the night and sleep in my spare room, or leave. But if you want more, I need you to know that there's nothing to get wrong or right."
She holds still under my touch. Her hand comes up and covers one of mine on her face, and she turns her head just enough to press her lips against my palm.
"You make me crazy," she mumbles, then leans in and kisses me open-mouthed, her hands fisting in my hair. She tastes of wine and she makes a sound that nearly takes my legs out.
I back her into the counter and her spine meets the edge of it.
I press in close, one hand braced on the counter beside her hip, the other still at her jaw, tilting her up to me.
She grabs the front of my shirt, and I'm not sure if she means to bring me closer or just needs something to hold.
The effect is the same though, and the kiss tips into something wild.
She moans and kisses me harder, her hands moving under my shirt to my back, and she hooks her fingers into my belt loops and pulls my hips into hers. Her head drops back when I drag my mouth over the line of her neck to the spot below her ear and she shivers, her hands tightening at my waist.
"Fuck," she says, ragged. "Okay, that's —"
I pull back to look at her. "Too much?"
"No. It's amazing. So strange and so good."
I arch a brow and smile. "Strange? You mean kissing someone without stubble?"
"Yeah. You're soft everywhere. Your mouth, your hands — it's completely different from —" A breathless laugh escapes her. "It's so much better and I want more."
Her hand closes around mine and she steps toward the hallway, pulling me with her, her eyes flicking to the stairs. Halfway up she chuckles, quiet and a little disbelieving. She squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back.
My bedroom is at the end of the landing. I've left the lamp on, low, and the window's open to the dark and the sound of the crickets. Sloane stops inside and takes it in — my bed, a book face-down on the nightstand, the clothes on the chair I never put away.
I come up behind her, close enough that she can feel me there, my hands settling on her hips. When I lower my head to her shoulder and brush her hair to the side, her breath stutters, and she tips her head to give me better access.
"I really don't know what I'm doing," she says in a shaky voice.
"You don't have to do a thing," I whisper. I can't remember wanting anyone this badly and some part of me is standing off to the side, refusing to believe Sloane Archer is in my bedroom. "Just let me."
She turns in my arms and kisses me, the whole length of her pressing into me. When my tongue finds hers she lets out a low, hungry moan, and my restraint goes out the window.
I walk her backward to the bed and ease her down onto it, following her, settling between her thighs with the dress rucked up around them.
She's looking up at me with her hair fanned across the sheet while her chest is heaving fast, and I take her in.
Her thighs tighten around me, urging me down while she's straining up toward me.
Her impatience tells me everything. She's as far gone as I am and I want to take her apart slowly.
I dip down and kiss her, unhurried, then move to her jaw, her throat. My palm covers her breast and she pushes up into it. I let my hand wander down the length of her, under the hem of her dress, up the warm inside of her thigh, and she parts her legs for me.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," I murmur, placing kisses down her cleavage while my fingers trail higher.
Sloane shakes her head. "Don't you dare.
" She reaches between us and pulls at the hem of her dress, too impatient to wait for me.
I lift off her enough to give her room, and she drags it up over her hips, her chest, and tugs it off over her head.
She's bare underneath but for a scrap of lace between her thighs and she lets me look at her, flushed and waiting.
Tan lines run sharp across her hips and her chest — gold where the sun has reached her. Her breasts are small and full and she's so striking I'm not sure how I'm meant to recover from looking at her.
When my mouth finds her breast she jolts, a gasp tearing out of her, and she grabs a fistful of my hair. My own pulse is hammering. I'm supposed to be the one in control here and the truth is she's wrecking me just as fast.
She's pulling at my shirt now, pushing it up my back, wanting it gone. I sit back to drag it over my head, and her hands are on me before it's even off — sliding up my stomach, my ribs, cupping me through my bra.
"Off," she says, tugging at the strap. "I want to see you."
I get rid of it and Sloane's eyes go over me slowly, settling on my breasts. Her hand drifts up to follow her gaze and her breath hitches as she caresses me.
"God," she says quietly. "You're so beautiful and so soft…"
No one has ever looked at me the way she's looking at me right now and I let her take her time. Her hands move curiously, tracing my curves. Her breath hitches when her thumb passes over my nipple and she goes still for a second to register what she's just done to me.
Lowering myself back down to kiss her, there's nothing between us now and it feels like every nerve in my body has just woken up — the heat of her skin all down the length of mine, every point of contact lit up. Her legs come up around me and she sighs in pleasure.
"You feel —" She can't finish it because I kiss the rest of the sentence off her mouth, then work my way down her body, slow, kissing over her stomach, the jut of her hip, the soft inside of her thigh, and she goes still and tense with anticipation, her breath held.
"Relax," I murmur against her skin. "Just enjoy it."
I hook my fingers in the lace, draw down her panties, and lean in to put my mouth between her thighs. The taste of her, the heat, the way her whole body goes rigid and then liquid in the space of a second is beautiful. She's wet and so responsive, her hips rising with every stroke of my tongue.
"Oh my —" Whatever she meant to say dissolves into a loud moan and I take my time with her, listening to her breath climb, easing off whenever she gets close. She's panting, swearing under her breath, her thighs trembling on either side of my head.
When I slide a finger into her, she clenches around it and her back leaves the bed again.
"Maggie, please —"
My mouth and hand move together, steady, relentless, until I feel her gathering toward the edge — the breath going out of her, her hand gone almost painful in my hair.
She comes apart loudly, helplessly, and I stay with her through every shudder, easing her down, until she's boneless and twitching and tugging weakly at my shoulders to bring me back up.
I crawl up and kiss her. She's shaking, her face hot, her heart slamming against my chest. Her eyes are still closed and her lips are parted, breathing heavily against my mouth, one hand limp on my shoulder. I stroke her hair while I give her time.
"I —" She gives up on the sentence. Tries again. "I didn't know it could be like that." She pulls back to look at me, dazed and wet-eyed. "Nobody ever — Sorry. I need a minute."
I push a damp strand of hair off her face and smile. Sloane pulls me down for another kiss, and we melt into each other all over again.