Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Brinton and Jamie stood on the darkened edge of the floor, shielded by far tipsier couples swaying to Shania’s sultry ad-libs.
There wasn’t a camera in sight, which was comforting as Brinton stepped closer.
She couldn’t remember the last time she slow danced with someone. Her aunt’s wedding in Fort Lauderdale in ninth grade? What the hell was she supposed to do with her hands again?
They awkwardly hovered over Jamie’s mountainous shoulders.
“Hey,” he said softly, “I like you here like this, close to me.”
He pulled her arms around his neck so their bodies melted into one another’s.
Jamie rested one hand on her upper back and one on the highest part of her hip.
It was respectful and dignified, and yet the proximity to his tensed muscles, straining beneath his T-shirt and God knew where else, did things to her she never thought she’d feel.
“Okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
He spun her around gracefully, and they sidestepped to the left and right like a well-oiled machine.
Brinton let herself let go. It wasn’t surprising because Jamie had that effect on her. When he spun her around again, she kept her back pressed against his chest, pushing her butt against him as her hips moved in time with the guitar’s hypnotic whine.
Her body buzzed from the friction alone.
Did she hear him groan? She couldn’t tell for sure over the music.
Jamie’s hands slid lightly down her sides. Finally, one rested on each hip.
As Brinton rocked side to side, his palms pressed harder into her hips, deliciously grounding her.
Pulling her into him.
She didn’t stop him, not when his touch felt so exactly right.
Craning his neck, he whispered in her ear. “If you keep grinding on me like that, I’m gonna stop behaving myself.”
She leaned her head back against his chest and inhaled his clove-spiked scent, easily more potent than all the whiskey in the world.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“I knew you were trouble,” he murmured against her ear.
On the inside, Brinton was a tornado of ecstasy. She couldn’t believe that A) this was happening and B) that he felt the same way about her. First, their electric moment on the red carpet, and then at the lake. All the small, surprising, explosive moments in between.
Behind her, Brinton draped her arms over Jamie’s shoulders. He took the hint, dragging his hands over her ribcage, down her waist, and across her stomach.
This time, she felt him groan into her ponytail. The little vibrations tickled the back of her neck before re-routing between her thighs. She was already swollen with pleasure.
Brinton unleashed body roll after tortuous body roll. Jamie’s hands didn’t miss a beat. Neither did his long, soft moans against her neck.
“You know I respect you, right?” he asked, breathless.
“Uh-huh.”
“The way I want you—what I wanna do to you…”
“Tell me…” she panted.
Though she didn’t need to ask. When she threw her ass back again, she felt the unmistakable answer in his jeans.
His breaths, satisfyingly hot and addictive, shattered against her neck. He spun her around to face him, paving the way for their hips to buck together freely.
She angled her face toward his. He cupped her jaw.
“I wanna run my tongue over you real slow, until you’re slick and screaming for me,” Jamie said. “I bet you taste so fucking sweet, Bee. Like pure honey.”
What a coincidence—she couldn’t stop thinking about how badly she wanted his mouth on her. Immediately.
“I’d lick up every single drop. Then, I’d fuck you six ways to Sunday.” He paused. “Respectfully, of course.”
Brinton swallowed hard.
“Of course,” she said, a lust-hazy grin overtaking her lips, which, she decided, needed to be kissed. She needed his hands. She needed him.
Brinton pressed her chest against his, gripping his back to keep her balance.
“Sunday’s my favorite day of the week.”
“Follow me,” he said, all smoke and lust, before taking her hand.