Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Rather than leading me downstairs, Cosmos guides me out of the tarantula room, and into the room tucked next to it.
It only takes a second to figure out this was his room.
It’s perfectly preserved. Like a shrine to Cosmos.
Various trophies decorate the shelf by the door, books pile high on the bookshelf, and a constellation of glow-in-the-dark stars adorns the ceiling.
As soon as the door closes behind us, Cosmos presses me against it and kisses me so fiercely I have to cling to his arms to keep my knees from giving out. His hands tangle in my hair, tongue swiping over mine. He smells of cedar and sandalwood—woodsy and masculine.
Just as I sink into the kiss and close my eyes, his mom hollers up the stairs again. “Dinner!”
Cosmos groans and drops his forehead onto my shoulder. “This is not what I would have chosen for our first date.”
“What would you have chosen?” I ask breathlessly.
He kisses a trail along my collarbone and up to my ear. “The beach sounded pretty great.”
His lips seize mine again. Conquering. Bruising.
I’ve never been kissed like this before.
It’s even more intense than the kiss we shared in the storage closet.
It’s like he’s starving for me and can’t get enough, like he wants to devour me whole.
After days of texting and flirting without seeing each other, I’m equally desperate.
A shriek from downstairs pulls us out of our feast. I laugh. “I’m not sure what the cicadas see in those mating calls. They definitely don’t do it for me.”
“What does it for you?” His eyes are half-mast and glassy. His hand rubs my hip, bunching the fabric of my dress. My body coils like a spring and vibrates from his touch.
“We should go,” I whisper. “They’re waiting.”
His eyes drill into me, seeing past my words. “Hmmm. You forget, darling. We have all the time in the world.”
His next kiss is whisper-soft across my lips.
Until it’s not.
I close my eyes, unable to look at him as the intensity grows. He lifts me up and twirls me around until my butt hits the desk in the corner. I land on something uneven and lift a book from under me. The Secrets of Roan Island. The same book I was reading aloud to Mom the day he caught me.
I wave it at him, and he shrugs with a smile. He pulls the desk chair close, sits down, and takes the book, tapping it against his chin. “Do you know what my favorite scene is?”
I shake my head, feeling breathless and dizzy, like I’m standing on a steep precipice about to slip off and fall.
He trails the edge of the book down the inside of my calf. “It’s the scene where he goes down on her in the library.”
I suck in a breath, remembering how into it the morally grey love interest had been.
“Really?”
“Definitely.” He drops the book and brings his hands to my knees, pushing gently to spread them apart. His gaze drops between my legs. My sweater dress lands just above my knees, and I’m wearing tights, but I feel like he can see right through it all.
I can feel my heart in my throat, and I have to fight the urge to close my legs.
“What was your favorite scene, beautiful?”
Beautiful. No one’s ever called me that before.
“Um…” I can do this. I can be brave. “When he chased her through the house,” I whisper.
Cosmos slips his hands under the hem of my dress. “Hmm, that’s on my romance book bucket list.” His fingers tighten on the flesh of my thigh. “But right now, there’s only one thing I want.”
“What’s that?”
He pulls back enough to look at me, and everything is silent again. His eyes twinkle with mischief, and his dimples are at full force. “Can’t you guess?”
His fingers inch higher, and his teeth scrape across his bottom lip. My cheeks flame hot. He can’t mean what I think he means, right?
His gaze drops as he inches my dress up my thighs.
I can hear music from downstairs and the faint sound of the woman I saw earlier talking on the phone in the next room.
Cosmos is undeterred by any of it. His hands glide along my thighs until they wrap around the waistband of my tights.
My insides quake in anticipation and apprehension.
“What if we get caught?”
“We won’t.” He catches my eye, and time stops. I chew my cheek, nervous, but eager.
He tugs lightly on the stretchy fabric of my tights with a question in his eyes. “Lift.”
Pressing my palms into the desk, I lift my hips just enough for him to work the fabric down my legs. He keeps his eyes locked on mine. He doesn’t rush, giving me time to change my mind. But I don’t want to stop this.
I’m not entirely sure where this is going, what he’s going to do next, but for once the uncertainty has me excited.
He yanks my hips to the very edge of the desk, and I gasp.
“Let me taste you, Hazel,” he rasps.
My laugh sounds like broken china, delicate and sharp. I can’t help it. His words sound like they’re straight out of a romance novel.
I’ve always had mixed feelings about oral sex, always wondering if the guy is just suffering through it out of some sense of obligation or to get oral in return.
I found it strange when the males in romance novels got so carried away about a woman’s taste, like they were just as into it as their love interest. It didn’t feel completely believable.
“Why do the guys in romance novels always obsess over the taste?” I blurt. “That’s not a real-life thing, is it? It’s just there so women feel less ashamed about wanting oral, right?”
His smile is soft, endearing, his eyes dark. “Do you feel ashamed about wanting oral?” His hand rubs up and down my bare thigh. He’s so close his breath warms my skin.
I squirm, wanting to get closer and farther away at the same time. “I… well… isn’t it kind of… gross down there?”
His eyes flash and tighten. “Nothing about you is gross.”
He kisses the black silk between my legs, then gently uses his teeth to bite the fabric, pulling my underwear away from my skin, dragging it down my thighs. He looks away long enough to remove my underwear completely. But his eyes lock with mine a moment later.
This is happening. He wants this to happen. I can see it in the hungry way he’s looking at me. He kisses one thigh, then lifts it and drapes it over his shoulder. Kisses the other and does the same. All the while, holding eye contact. Melting me with his gaze.
He moans my name, breath warm against me. He presses a firm kiss against my clit and then his tongue parts me. Slow lapping licks that turn greedy and ravenous. Teeth scrapping. Lips sucking. Swirling a tight circle, flicking, dipping.
My eyes roll closed. Music. Clanking dishes. Talking. Laughter. We shouldn’t be doing this now, right here. But his fingers are digging into my thighs and his tongue—
“Hazel.”
He licks me again, flicking over my clit. Oh, that tongue. Nothing has ever felt as good as that wicked, wicked tongue. I gasp. He stops.
“Hazel, darling, you need to look at me.” His voice is ragged with want, but demanding.
I suddenly realize my eyes are closed. I sit up and jerk away. Shit.
What if his sister heard me moan? What if his mom did?
This isn’t like me. I don’t get carried away like this.
We’re adults. We can wait until we’re alone, keep a hold on ourselves for one dinner.
This can wait. I move to stand, but his hands are firm against my thighs, holding me in place, unyielding.
“You asked if men really like going down on a woman,” he says, suddenly serious. “I can’t speak for all men, but I fucking love the taste of you, and I’m not done yet.”
Every part of me flushes, warm and tight.
“Just look at me, darling, okay?” He licks me with a smile, eyes locked on mine. It’s intimate in a way that’s almost unbearably hot. My breath hitches, heaves, heart pounding as each caress of his tongue becomes more urgent, sparking something wild inside me.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “That’s my girl. All you have to do is relax and look at me.”
So, I do.
“Good girl,” he says before working me over even more eagerly.
My whole body has a visceral reaction to those two small words, the praise so rare and hard to come by. It does something to me that throws me almost immediately over the edge.
I can barely maintain eye contact. White spots cloud my vision, my toes curl as everything tenses in pleasure. Shaking. Shuddering. Shattering. Ruined.