8. Faye
The next thing I know, Mark scoops me up, and on instinct, my legs wrap around his waist with ease. I swear it’s like he was made for me, and we fit together perfectly. I haven’t been carried like this by anyone but him in my entire life.
I feel young and carefree again.
Logically, I know a lot has changed in thirty years, but we can deal with what that means later.
All that matters in this moment is experiencing whatever this is between us.
Maybe if I give in and just let things happen, I’ll get him out of my system and finally be able to concentrate on anything other than Mark again.
As his hands grip my ass tighter, his tongue delves deeper, making my entire body hum with desire, and all contemplation of what-ifs disappears.
As my hands roam his muscular chest, a thought hits me like a ton of bricks—holy hell, this man must work out like crazy.
Not only is he kissing the ever-living shit out of me, but he ascends the freaking stairs as if I’m a Velcro monkey rather than the grown-ass woman who’s certainly changed since being a gangly teen.
Who does this?
Mark Lancaster, apparently.
My body pulses with need with each step we travel.
He’s hotter than any book boyfriend or fantasy I could’ve imagined.
His kisses burn me from the inside out. Every nip, suck, and stroke of his tongue possessively consumes my every thought.
I need more.
I’m vaguely aware of rooms passing by as we travel through the house, but it isn’t until he stops moving that I notice we’ve arrived in his bedroom.
When the hand that’s gripping my ass and holding me in place glides up my back, I take it as my cue to release my legs from his waist.
Sliding down his body for the second time tonight in slow motion, I feel every sculpted muscle hidden beneath his thin T-shirt.
“Damn, you feel amazing.” The compliment slips from his lips as his large hand slides under my shirt, then trails up my spine, making me tingle from head to toe.
Laughing, I admit, “You took the words right out of my mouth.”
Running my hands along his pecks, my need to lick every square inch of his chest has me clawing at the shirt tucked into his black cargo pants.
When Mark steps back, I almost cry at the loss of contact.
Reaching one arm over his shoulder, he quickly tugs at his shirt and removes it in one fluid motion.
My mouth feels drier than the sand in any desert as my eyes roam his body.
Holy fucking shit. Mark’s been holding out on me.
How on earth has he gotten so much better-looking with age?
If I thought he was hot before, he’s like a fucking Greek god now.
His muscles are sculpted to perfection. A smattering of dark hair covers his chest, and oh, my freaking god, where did that V come from? He never had anything like that when we were kids.
I’ve never seen anything like this other than on cover models or in the movies. This doesn’t happen in real life.
We’re freaking forty-eight. Isn’t he supposed to have a dad bod or something like that? It takes everything in me not to stick out my finger and poke him, just to ensure I haven’t completely conjured him in my mind.
For fuck’s sake, I wouldn’t put it past my imagination.
After all, he’s all I’ve been able to think about for days.
When my eyes drift down to peruse the large bulge in his pants, the loud clearing of his throat fills the room. “Eyes up here, sweetheart.”
The old me would have been embarrassed to be so blatantly checking him out.
But not this time.
I’m proudly enjoying every moment.
Purposely, I take my time dragging my eyes to his.
It’s obvious he’s worked hard on his body, and I’m not ashamed that I’m simply appreciating his efforts.
When our eyes finally meet, I’m not prepared for the heat searing at me.
The desire and need in that one look nearly incinerates me on the spot.
Who knows how long I stare, but eventually, an uneven grin forms on his lips as he reaches for the hem of my shirt.
“If you’re gonna keep lookin’ at me like that, there’s no way I’ll be able to take things slow.” His sexy voice is low and gravelly and does something to me that I can’t quite explain.
“Who said we need to take things slow?”
As if I haven’t just poured gasoline on this fire between us, I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head with ease.
I’ve never been more thankful for stopping in that French lingerie shop on my last trip to Paris than I am in this moment. If I thought Mark’s gaze was heated before, his dark hazel eyes might melt my royal-blue satin two-piece set without even touching me.
A guttural moan escapes his lips as he reaches for my hip and tugs me closer. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Faye, if you keep teasing me like that.”
“Oh, I’m not teasing,” I promise.
Leaning down, he brushes a kiss against my swollen lips. “Good. Now… let’s get these pants off you so I can see if my hunch is right.”
“What’s that?” I ask, having no idea where he’s going with this.
Giving my ass a quick squeeze, he smirks. “I’m dying to know if you’re still in the habit of wearing matching underwear.”
“Guess you’ll have to see for yourself,” I tease, untying the drawstring of my joggers.
Before I can push them down, Mark reaches for me and slips his thumbs into my waistband to help me glide them over my hips.
As I shimmy them off and toe them aside, Mark’s guttural groan fills the room.
“Mmmm… Faye. You’re so fuckin’ sexy.”
Feeling bold, I step back and slowly spin to let him appreciate all aspects of the blue panties he was eager to see. They give me full coverage in the front, but the back is a no-show thong, leaving my cheeks exposed.
His quick intake of breath lets me know my newfound hobby is a success.
Who knew going to the gym to help Dad get back into shape would have so many benefits for me?
Mark always was an ass man, and from the look in his eyes that meet mine when I face him, I’m glad to see some things haven’t changed.
“You’re playing with fire, Faye,” is the only warning I get.
Before inhaling my next breath, he reaches for me and crashes his lips onto mine.
This time, as he palms my ass and lifts me off my feet, he merely pivots and drops me onto the enormous king-sized bed behind us.
Eager for him to join me, I scooch toward the center of his dark-gray comforter, but he stops me with a hand on my calf.
“Not so fast, sweetheart. I’ve spent the better part of three days fantasizing about you…
Not to mention it’s been over thirty years since we’ve been together.
There’s no way in hell we’re rushing this. ”
For the second time tonight, my heart squeezes at the memories.
He’s the only one who’s ever called me sweetheart—well, the only one I ever let get away with it.
With Mark, it was never derogatory or condescending.
It was truly a form of endearment.
One that held hope and the promise of a future.
One that made me feel safe and confident to just be myself.
I never had to be anything but me when we were together.
Maybe it’s because he was my first, but there was something different about the way we explored one another and pushed things to the next level that always had me burning with desire and ready to go when it came to him.
Mark interrupts my trip down memory lane by running a palm along my inner leg up to my thigh and down to my ankle.
Tugging me to the end of the bed, he lets out a low whistle. “Damn, your skin is just as smooth as I remember,” he murmurs.
Goose bumps scatter across my heated flesh as my core clenches.
Brushing his lips along my calf, he moans in satisfaction. “Fuck, you taste just like I remember.”
“What do you mean?” The question flies from my mouth before I can think better of it.
Between kisses up my leg, he satisfies my curiosity.
“Fuck… You taste like a warm summer day…. I swear there’s a hint of vanilla and lavender…” He stops to run his tongue along my inner thigh, and it takes everything in me not to squirm like crazy.
“But it’s so much more than that… You just taste like…” He shakes his head as if he can’t find the words, and I feel his hot breath at the apex of my thighs.
“God, that feels good,” I cry, fisting the soft comforter beneath me.
Licking his tongue along my skin just beneath the seam of my panties, my hips buck into him, and he finally continues his thought on an exhale. “Like you.”
I barely process his words when his finger slides beneath the fabric along my other thigh. It glides with ease through my folds and circles my clit, only to slide into me and stroke me from within.
“Oh, Mark… Right there,” I encourage as he sets a steady rhythm that will have me coming in record time.
When he adds another digit, I can barely form a coherent thought.
It feels beyond words.
He touches me in ways my vibrator never can. It’s been way too long since any man has made me feel like this. Threading my fingers through his hair, I guide him to where I want him most.
Unfortunately, instead of doing what I need, his body shifts, and his fingers withdraw.
“Fuck… Don’t stop…” I plead in protest.
“Have to,” he demands. “These panties are way too sexy to rip to shreds, and I need to taste this beautiful pussy of yours.”
“Well… That I can get on board with.” I laugh. “I am quite fond of them.”
“You and me both, sweetheart.”
Lifting my hips, he quickly assists me in removing them. “Besides… You’d have to take me to Paris to get more.”
“Hmmm…” he ponders as he comes up to cup my cheek, then brushes a tender kiss over my lips. “We never did get to travel. You still got that bucket list we made as kids?”
“I’ve checked a few things off over the years,” I admit with a smirk. “But you know me, I’m always adding to it.”
Holding my gaze, one hand braces himself above me on the bed, while the other returns to stroke my clit. “I can think of a few things I’d like to add to mine.”
“What’s… that?” I ask, but my breath hitches when he presses his fingers deep inside me.
Leaning in, he kisses me once more.