Wicked Me
Page 29
“I missed you.” Her gaze flicked up to mine.
“Me too.” I grabbed the book from the top shelf and brushed its frayed edges across her cheek to her lips, memorizing each tug and ripple and the way they fell apart on a soft moan. Her warm breath blew across my knuckles. The fingers of my other hand slipped over her hip to the skin on her belly and pulled at the top of her thong in a steady, slow rhythm. Her head fell back against the shelf, her eyelids fluttering with every pant. I knew that if I slid my hand a little lower, she would be soaked.
“You missed you too?” she asked.
I sank into her with a loud affirmative groan, kissing, tasting, teasing her with my tongue while my hands explored everywhere. She melted around me, the heat between her legs pressed into my thigh, her arms winding around my back to pull me closer.
I worked open the clasp of her bra. Her soft skin tipped with hard nipples against my hands nearly undid me. I rolled one underneath my thumb while my other hand slid lower down her smooth belly, taking her skirt down with it. With just her thong between us, I could smell her sweet arousal. It worked my entire self into a frenzy. I pinned her against the bookshelf, my hips already thrusting against her, while I claimed her mouth, her tongue, her soft moans for my own.
One frantic hand fumbled with my zipper while her other fished for a condom in my pocket. “I’ve never...fucked in a library before.”
But sweet Jesus, I could tell by the excitement in her voice that she’d always wanted to.
I slipped a hand to her thigh, wound the fabric of her thong around my fist, and yanked. She gasped, her chest heaving against mine, her warm hand freeing my dick and guiding it into a condom. Then, with one slow push, I was inside, every muscle clenched at just how little control I had. It had been six months. Good thing we had the rest of our lives to make up for it.
With her legs hiked up around my waist, I pumped into her, slowly, but quickly losing control. I reached between us and swiped my thumb across her clit. She came instantly, contracting and shuddering and moaning around me. My own release stormed down my back and straight to my balls.
We collapsed against each other, breathing hard, while the woman I loved looked at me as if I were home.
Epilogue
Sam
THE THINGS I WOULD do for the gorgeous woman standing next to me. In the days leading up to Sophia’s birthday party, I had never seen anyone worry about the kind of wrapping paper an almost seven-year-old girl would like more than Paige. Wrapping paper. The kid was going to rip it up and never think about it again because of what Paige was about to give her—two tickets to an Adele concert and a signed collector’s edition of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.
Paige had told me the story of how she’d come to “collect such a treasure when she was just a girl” between the stretch of hours we spent making up for lost time. And, man, there was a lot of time to make up for. I intended to never stop making up for it. That morning, Paige assured me her legs had turned to jelly, but it had taken very little prodding to ready her for round two. And I’d worshipped her body, mind, and heart.
Now, high-pitched shrieks slowed our steps up the sidewalk. We stood outside a neat two-story white house with a Happy Birthday, Sophia! banner flapping in the breeze. The noise behind the closed door was nearing dog-whistle volume. Did anyone over the age of twenty ever not live through a birthday party filled with screaming kids? I guessed I was about to find out.
Paige rang the doorbell, an adorable wrinkle between her eyebrows, while she fiddled with one corner of the wrapped box.
“Stop, Paige. It’s fine,” I told her.
“It’s not. It’s a fiasco. Monkeys aren’t sophisticated enough for my girl.”
“Monkeys are better than clowns.” Memories of an elementary school buddy’s birthday and the clown disaster at the party had given me nightmares for weeks. “Trust me on this.”
“Was there a clown apocalypse or something?”
“Let’s just say clowns shouldn’t be allowed to hold a knife to cut the cake. It’s not an image anyone needs to see.”
Paige laughed, a warm sound that flooded my chest every time I heard it.
The door swung open, and a mini-version of Paige peered out. I blinked, thinking the roaring shrieks behind her had ended my brain functions, and I was staring at Paige the first day I met her. They looked exactly alike, from their honey skin, their long brown hair, the devious look behind those big brown eyes.
The little girl squealed and threw herself into Paige’s arms. “Paige, come and see....”
Between the noise inside and the mile-a-minute speed she spoke, I couldn’t make out the rest of what she said.
Paige squeezed the girl to her. “I will. But I want you to meet Sam,” she said, turning to me. “He’s my boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” Sophia turned her gaze to me and grinned. “Hi, Sam.”
“Hey, Sophia. Happy birthday.”
That must’ve made me worthy enough to join her celebration because she took both our hands and swung them between her on the way inside.
Behind her, a woman with dark skin and short hair, who looked completely frazzled, took one look at Paige, then sagged against the doorframe. “Help me,” she begged.
Paige glanced at me, her warm smile racing my heartbeat almost enough to drown out the noise. Her wrapping-paper fiasco seemed to be forgotten as she bravely stepped inside.
Death by seven-year-olds. Not how I imagined I’d go out. But for Paige, it was worth the risk.
THE END
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Acknowledgements
THE FOLLOWING PEOPLE deserve a dance party and cake for helping to make this book possible: Mysti Parker, Pam Godwin, Chantel Seabrook, Hal Begzos, Kira, Jessup, Danielle Devor, Rachel McClellan, Brandy Isaacs, JC Andrijeski, Maine Romance Writers, The Goal Girls, Romance Authors Unite, my three forever writing buddies whom I could never survive without: Natasha Larry, Erin Hayes, and Margo Bond Collins. And YOU, the reader!
The following person/animal wouldn’t like a dance party, but will take a little bit of cake for helping to make this book possible: my husband and my cat.
The following things deserve a special shout-out for helping to make this book possible: the Library of Congress (preciousssss) and lots of wine and chocolate.
About the Author
LINDSEY R. LOUCKS IS a USA Today bestselling author of paranormal romance, science fiction, and contemporary romance. When she's not discussing books with anyone who will listen, she's dreaming up her own stories. Eventually her brain gives out, and she'll play hide and seek with her cat, put herself in a chocolate-induced coma, or watch scary movies alone in the dark to re-energize.
www.lindseyrloucks.com
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