Chapter 17 - Carissa
~
Carissa
I barely noticed anything else as Dawson’s hands anchored me against him.
The moment we tried to move, it turned into a tangle of limbs and laughter, our knees bumping against the limo door, my heel catching the edge of the step.
Every shift of his body made it impossible to pull back, impossible to stop leaning in, and I was hopelessly aware of how perfectly we fit together even when we were fumbling.
His hands tightened at my waist as we somehow managed to collapse into the back seat, a jumble of arms and legs, his mouth finding mine the instant our bodies hit the leather.
I laughed into him when we nearly slid off the seat altogether, and he muttered something against my lips that sounded like an apology.
But it only made the warmth between us pulse harder.
Every accidental press, every small stumble, was a deliberate excuse to stay this close, to keep the kiss going, to let the world shrink until it was just the two of us and the heat we could no longer ignore.
Where Boone was all insatiable hunger, Dawson took me in a more measured, deliberate way. Not that I was comparing the brothers. My mind just couldn’t help making the leap. Same face, very different kind of heat.
He brushed a stray strand of hair from my cheek, his fingers gliding along my jawline, cradling the back of my neck with a tender intimacy that sent a shiver through me. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to know what it would be like.”
“What what would be like?” My heart was a frantic drum and there was nothing I could do about it.
“This,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky register that was meant for me alone. His thumb stroked my jawline, a slow caress that made my breath catch in my throat.
God, his hands. I’d imagined them on me a thousand times, a thousand different ways.
I could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the intoxicating mix of his cologne and pure, unabated lust. My lips parted slightly, and his gaze dropped to my mouth, his own lips curving into a faint, hungry smile.
“You’re okay with this?” His breath was warm against my skin.
“Only if you promise to stop talking so much.”
“Good.” He dipped his head, nose skimming my cheekbone until his mouth was right against my ear. “Because I have no intention of holding back tonight.”
And then his mouth was on mine.
It wasn’t a gentle, questioning kiss. It was all the want he had pent up for months, unleashed.
It was hot and desperate and devastatingly skilled.
His lips moved against mine with a surety that made my head spin, his tongue tracing the seam of my mouth until I opened for him with a soft, broken sound I didn’t recognize.
The taste of him—bar fries and cheap beer—was dizzying.
My hands came up, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, holding on for dear life as he plundered my mouth, each roll of his tongue a promise of what was to come.
He broke the kiss, both of us breathing heavily. His green eyes were shot black with desire. Raising himself on one elbow, he reached for the controls on the door handle and pushed a button.
“Take us home.”
A sharp buzz of static marked the end of his communication, and the limo’s engine swung to life.
“You’re sure he can’t—?”
“The privacy glass is double-paned,” he replied. “Can’t see anything. Can’t hear anything. So you can be as loud as you want.”
My face burned under his mischievous scrutiny, the smirk glinting in his eyes giving away his intentions. And as the limo pulled out of the lot and rolled down the street, I set the last of my doubts to rest. This was what I wanted. This was always what I’d wanted.
The leather from the seat was still cool enough through my dress to draw a sharp contrast with the fire burning under my skin. He crowded me against it, his body a solid wall of warmth, caging me in.
“Tell me this is real,” he demanded, his voice rough, like it had been scraped raw by months of unspoken longing. His eyes locked onto mine, piercing and unrelenting, as if he could see straight through me. “Tell me you want this as much as I do. Because I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.”
The confession felt like it had been waiting to claw its way out of him for the longest time. I felt the weight of it, the sheer desperation behind each word. He was laid bare before me, all his bravado stripped away, leaving nothing but raw, unfiltered truth.
His hand tightened on my hip, a grounding force as he leaned in closer. “So long, Carissa. I spent so long wondering what it would feel like to have you like this. To touch you. To fucking breathe you in.”
I could feel the heat of him, his body pressed against mine, the way his pulse raced where his wrist brushed my arm. It was overwhelming, but it also felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.
“This is real,” I said softly. “I want you, Dawson.”
He searched my eyes for a moment longer, as if he was afraid to believe it, afraid that this moment might dissolve into nothingness if he blinked too hard.
Then, a low, guttural sound escaped him, and he crushed his lips to mine again.
His hands tangled in my hair, his body pressing me harder into the seat, until there was no space left between us, no room for hesitation or regrets.
This kiss was all possession. One hand tilting my head back to give him better access, the other sliding down my side, his palm scorching a path to my thigh.
He gripped me there, pulling me firmly against the hard ridge of his erection straining in his pants.
The contact drew a sharp, needy gasp from me, and I rocked my hips against him, a silent, desperate plea.
He pulled back, breathing ragged. “You feel that? What you do to me?” He bucked his hips, grinding himself against me again, the friction a delicious torment through the layers of clothing. “I’ve been fighting this hard-on since I first saw you in this dress.”
His words sent a fresh wave of liquid heat pooling between my legs, making a mess of my underwear. I reached for the buttons of his shirt, my fingers fumbling in my urgency.
“I need to feel you.”
Dawson stilled my movements, eyes locked on mine as he guided my hands away. “Me first.”
He released my wrists and his hands went to the thin straps of my dress, pushing them off my shoulders.
So slowly. His knuckles brushed my bare skin, setting every inch of me alight.
Then he turned his attention to the zipper beneath me and with the same deft fingers that helped me with it a few short hours ago, he worked it down all the way.
A deliberate tug brought the bodice of my dress to my waist, exposing my breasts to the charged heat crackling between us.
My nipples got hard instantly, stiff and aching for his touch.
His eyes roamed over me. “Fuck me, you’re beautiful.”
Then he dipped his head, and closed his mouth over one taut bud.
The sensation sent a thrill of sensuous waves through me as he swirled his tongue around my nipple, teasing me with hot, wet strokes before he sucked me in.
I arched my back, pushing myself further into his mouth, and a moan ripped from deep in my chest. His free hand found my other breast, kneading the soft flesh, his thumb flicking over my nipple until I writhed against him, mindless with need.
He released my breast with a wet pop, his lips traveling up my chest, along my collarbone, to the thundering pulse beating at the base of my throat. He closed his mouth over it and sucked hard, surely marking me, and the possessiveness of the act made my pussy clench with raw desire.
“Dawson… please…”
“Please what?” His hand slid down my stomach, over the silk of my dress, and heading lower still. “Tell me what you want.”
He gathered the rest of my dress in his fist, gradually inching it up my thighs. I held my breath, my entire world narrowing to the throb between my legs, to the determined hand moving closer and closer toward the soaked lace of my underwear.
“Tell me,” he commanded again, his voice a husky whisper as his fingertips finally, finally, made contact with the damp fabric. With the place I needed him most.
“I want to feel you. I need…”
His touch was a brand through the flimsy fabric of my underwear, two fingers gliding up and down until my thighs trembled. “Is all this… for me?”
“It’s all you, Dawson. All you.”
With a sudden, fluid motion, he grabbed my hips and swung me round, dropping to his knees. My legs were slung over his shoulders as he settled between my legs, dress bunched all the way up. His eyes dropped closed as he took a long, deep inhale, breathing in my scent.
I was spread wide. Nowhere to hide, and no shyness allowed.
Dawson’s eyes gleamed with a primal hunger as he pulled my underwear aside and took in the sight of my wet pussy, glistening in the streaks of neon rushing past the windows.
His hot breath ghosted over my clit, making me quiver.
The anticipation was a live wire, twisting tighter and tighter in my gut.
“Please,” I whimpered, rolling my hips in search of that sweet contact I so desperately needed.
That broke his trance, and a wicked grin touched his lips. “Since you asked so nicely.”
He leaned in, and his mouth was on me.
Claiming me.
His tongue, flat and warm, lashed a long, slow line from my entrance all the way up to my swollen clit. I jolted, a broken cry escaping my lips as my head fell back against the seat with a dull thud. The sensation was so intense, so shockingly direct, it short-circuited every thought in my head.
Nothing mattered but his mouth on me. Like this.
He moaned against me, the vibration ramping up the pleasure even more. “You taste so fucking good.”