33. Tyson
THIRTY-THREE
TYSON
Maybe I should stop the kiss.
I can’t stop the kiss.
I should stop.
So many things run through my mind the second her lips part against mine again.
It’s not that I don’t want this. Fuck, I want this more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time, if ever.
But I don’t trust myself around her to not take it too far.
I want all of her, but I promised myself I’d take it slow with her.
I want to take it slow. I don’t want to rush things and lose her, but it’s hard not to want more from her when she’s pretty much undone before me.
Not with her looking at me with a softness and a vulnerability I’ve never seen.
But I don’t know if she even understands what she’s asking me for. If we take this all the way and have sex, will she regret it afterward? Think it was too fast? It’d crush me if she did.
My hand stays at the back of her neck as my thumb absentmindedly brushes the tender spot under her ear. I kiss her again, nice and slow, wanting to drag out this moment for as long as I can.
Josie melts into me.
She lets out a soft sound that’s somewhere between a moan and a sigh. It tightens everything in my chest…and lower. I slide off my stool to get even closer to her. I push my chest against hers until her back is pressed against the edge of the kitchen counter.
Her tongue slides against mine as she lets out another moan, her fingers tightening around the fabric of my shirt. She moves her hips up and down once, the action making all the blood rush to my cock.
My mouth stills against hers. I try to steady my uneven breathing, but it’s no use. I pull away just enough to rest my forehead against hers. “Josie.” Her name comes out like a warning. Like I’m trying to remind both of us of what this is—not that I even really know myself. It’s too soon to ask.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about what it could become.
Her grip on my shirt tightens, like she’s trying to make a point that she isn’t going anywhere.
“Don’t stop,” she pleads. “Show me.”
Fuck.
She’s unraveling the restraint I’m desperately trying to hold on to.
A low sound comes from deep in my chest. It’s somewhere between a laugh and a groan because I’m all too aware of the effect she has on me.
I lean in and press my mouth to hers again. My tongue pushes into her mouth instantly. The kiss is deep, but measured. She clings to my shirt so tightly that she’s got to be stretching the fabric, but I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. Not when she’s holding on to me so desperately.
I keep one hand pressed to the back of her neck to keep her mouth just where I want her while the other slowly slides along her ribs, feeling the soft fabric of her dress, and the warmth of her skin beneath it.
I take my time with the kiss—with touching her.
Not because I don’t want more.
Fuck, all I want is more.
But because I want more, I take my time. I want to feel every single second of this. I want her to feel every second of it. If she wants inspiration, fuck, I’ll give it to her.
She’s pushed fully against the counter at this point, but she doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, the way she clings to the fabric of my shirt to get me even closer is part of the reason I’m pressing her into the counter to begin with.
There’s no space between our bodies. My chest is against hers, her thighs spread open to allow me between them as her back arches as we kiss.
I continue to let my hand travel down her body before stopping at the hemline of her dress. It’s already pushed up because of our position, but I pause for a moment. My fingers flex against her bare skin as I try to decide whether or not I should go any further.
“Tell me if I need to slow down,” I rasp against her mouth. I mean it, even if it kills me to say it. Even if I already have a guess about what she’ll say. I have to say the words so she has a chance to stop this if it’s moving too fast and she’s changed her mind.
Her response isn’t in words.
It’s the way she leans into me, her back arching even more in the process.
Her hands slide up my neck, and her nails bite into my skin as she pulls me closer.
“I don’t want you to slow down,” she responds, grinding her hips.
“I want this. I want you. Show me, Ty,” she repeats, the last of her words coming out as a moan.
And then something in me snaps.
I don’t lose control, but I lose hold of my restraint.
My hand slides up, moving the fabric out of my way, as my fingertips brush against her inner thigh. I stop and wait, my gaze searching for any indication on her face that she wants me to pull back.
She doesn’t.
Instead, her breathing hitches for a moment as she spreads her thighs a little wider before giving me a slight nod of her head.
It’s all the permission I need.
I let out a groan—or maybe it’s more of a growl—as both my hands find the small of her waist, and I lift her to the counter. I set her on the edge before moving one of my hands from her just enough to push the dishes to the side to make room for her.
Something crashes to the ground, but I don’t pay it any attention.
The sound makes Josie laugh. “We’re breaking your brand-new dishes.”
“I don’t care,” I say, stepping between her knees as I lean in to kiss her again—harder this time.
She welcomes me instantly. Her lips part, and her body arches into mine as her hands find the back of my neck once again.
I swear, I feel the kiss everywhere.
All we’re doing is kissing, and I’m hard as a rock. I’m desperate for more of her, but also trying to keep some sort of control of myself.
“Fuck,” I mutter, my lips moving against hers. I suck in a breath, trying to gather myself before I lose control completely.
Because I’m close to doing just that. Because of her.
And the last thing I want to do is to push her to do something she isn’t ready for.
My grip on her thigh tightens as I ache to inch it higher. I want to feel her—touch her—find out how wet she is because of me.
“You’re making this really hard to take it slow,” I admit, my voice lowered.
Josie doesn’t hesitate. The moment the words leave my mouth, she grabs my hand and inches it further up her thigh herself. Her fingers are tight around mine like she’s trying to make a point that she doesn’t have any doubts.
“Then stop taking it slow.” The certainty in her voice hits me just as intensely as the desire I’m feeling for her does.
There’s no hesitation in her words. No second-guessing. Maybe she’s okay with things moving quickly between us.
She wants this.
She wants me.
Maybe I wrongly assumed she didn’t understand what she wanted, because her words come out confident and clear. And that, paired with the way she holds my hand to her inner thigh, makes me finally believe she wants this as badly as I do.
My chest tightens again. Maybe it’s the last of the control I was desperately trying to hold on to breaking.
“You’re right,” I mutter. Our lips still barely brush as I say it. There’s almost no space between our bodies, and she still feels too far away.
I kiss her again, deep and hard, letting go of the control I’ve been holding on to all night.
“Taking it slow with you,” I continue, my grip tightening on her thigh, “doesn’t feel right at all.”