by Cat Carmine
And this kiss. God, this kiss. Poets couldn’t adequately capture it. Artists wouldn’t dare try. This kiss is everything. This kiss is the only answer I need.
I lean into Wes and let myself be carried away by the moment. This perfect moment. He presses his lips more firmly against mine and I open to him, letting him claim me with his mouth. My mind shuts down in that moment, as if it’s decided my body will be making all the decisions from this point on.
And my body knows what it wants.
My body wants Wes.
“Come on,” I murmur. I take his hand from my waist and drag him off the dance floor.
He frowns. “Where are we going?”
“Just follow me.”
“You didn’t like dancing?”
I stop. Spin around to face him.
“I did. But I’d like something else even more.”
That shuts him up. His mouth snaps closed so fast it almost makes me giggle. Except I’m not in a laughing mood. We find Celia and Jace and say our goodbyes, once again wishing them well. Wes’s hand never leaves my hip, and I like the possessive way it feels like he’s claiming me.
I lead him out of the ballroom and down the hall towards the bank of elevators. It’s late now, and a lot of the wedding guests have already departed, but the hallway still has the odd cluster of people in it, laughing and mingling and clinging to smuggled cocktails and glasses of champagne.
I ignore all of them. I suddenly don’t care if anyone sees us, or what they think if they do. I jam the elevator call button and we wait impatiently while the floor indicator lights tick downwards.
Wes squeezes my hand at the exact moment that the door pings open in front of us. We step into the elevator car as if we were one being, moving in tandem. Almost breathing in tandem.
The elevator ride passes in a flash. There is no question about which floor we go to. Wes is letting me take the lead in this moment, and he doesn’t say anything when I hit the button for the twenty-first floor. I lead him down the hallway to my room and fumble in my purse for the keycard.
“Goddammit,” I mutter. I seem to have everything else in this stupid clutch except my keycard. Lipstick, tissues, breath mints, safety pins, hair elastics, band-aids, Advil — I was determined to be prepared for anything Celia might have needed today. Of course, she didn’t need anything at all, and now the one thing that I need — my own damn room card — is nowhere to be found.
Wes squeezes my hand again, tips my chin up so that I’m looking at his piercing blue eyes.
“Breathe,” he says with an easy grin.
I laugh and let out a breath. Right.
I force myself to go slowly, and find the keycard pressed against the back of my phone. I pull it out triumphantly and then slip it into the slot on the door. The green light illuminates and the lock clicks open.
I take one deep breath, sneak a glance back at Wes, and then twist the handle.
Thirty
We tumble into the room as one. The lights are off, but the moonlight drifts in through the open blinds. The white duvet on the bed glows almost blue. As soon as the door swings shut behind us, I turn to face Wes.
In the dim light, his eyes are dark, but they bore into me. His expression is serious, his mouth set in a determined line. His eyes rake over my body and I shiver. That makes his lips quirk up into a smile.
“Come here.” His voice comes out as a growl, and I feel no choice but to obey. My body moves towards him, my feet shuffling over the patterned carpet. He loops his arms around my waist as soon as I’m close enough and pulls me the rest of the way. The suddenness of it makes me stumble and I fall against his chest, giggling. But my laugh is silenced as soon as I look up at the expression on his face. My smile falls away and I swallow. Hard.
Wes leans his head in and my lips part automatically. His kiss makes my toes curl, the same way it always does. The way it always has. It’s sensual and powerful and all-consuming. I lean into it, the way I always do. The way I always have.
His body against mine is warm and solid, and we move easily towards the bed. Our lips never lose contact. Our hands roam each other’s bodies like explorers in a foreign country. My skin is already on fire, my nipples on full alert, my pussy beginning to pulse and clench.
Wes’s hands move to my back and tug gently at the zipper on my dress. He drags it down so slowly, I swear I can hear every individual tooth as it pulls apart. The zipper ends just below my waist, and once it’s undone, the fabric slips easily from my body. I let it pool on the floor around me.
Wes runs his hands over my now-bare shoulders, skimming them over my collarbone, the rise of my breasts, my shoulder blades. His brow is furrowed in concentration. It’s as if he’s trying to memorize every part of my body, every inch of my skin.
“God, Rori, could you be any more perfect?” His eyes take in my strapless bra, my tiny thong, my high heels. Goosebumps speckle my arms, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Instead of answering, I tug at his tie, pulling him closer to me, finding his lips with mine again. He walks me backwards until my knees hit the back of the bed, and then I tumble backwards, pulling him down with me. He holds himself carefully above me, his weight pressing into me but not too much. His hands never stop roaming my body.
My fingers shake as I try to undo his shirt. I don’t know why I feel so nervous. It’s not like this is the first time Wes and I have found ourselves in this position. But maybe it’s because it’s the first time it’s felt real.
My feelings for Wes have never really gone away, not even with all those years and distance between us. Despite everything that has changed, he’s still, in so many ways, the same sweet, sexy guy he was back then. At least in the ways that matter.
Despite all my best intentions, despite all my misgivings, I’m falling in love with Wes. Again. Still. Maybe I never fell out of love with him.
I push those thoughts away and try to focus on the moment. Which isn’t hard, given the way that Wes’s hands are now caressing my breasts. I let out a moan that makes his eyes glint.
“You can’t do that, Rori,” he growls. “Because when you do that, you make me lose all control.”
I shiver at his words. But only because I feel the same way. Being with Wes, from the first moment he walked into my office that day, has made me feel completely out of control. Like my body — and my heart — have been completely taken over by someone else.
“I want this, Wes,” I whisper. “I want you.”
He growls again, and then his lips are on my throat, my collarbone, my chest. He moves lower, running his tongue over the rise of my breasts before pushing my strapless bra down and out of his way. He groans as my breasts spring free, and then runs his tongue over those too, lavishing his attention on one nipple and then the other. My back arches involuntarily, pushing my breasts closer to his face, begging him to devour me.
And he does. His mouth and hands seem to be everywhere, touching every inch of my skin, every corner and crevice of my body. Even my mind seems to belong to him, because I can’t think or see or feel anything but Wes.
His fingers trail down my stomach and then lower, over my mound. Even through the lacy fabric of my thong, his fingers drive me crazy. He presses into me, grinding the heel of his hand against my clit while his fingers reach lower.
I whimper. His touch makes me insane. But I want more of him. I arc my hips against his hand, trying to drive him deeper.
Instead, he takes his hand away.
I moan again. “Wes...”
He grins. “Yes?”
I cover my face with my hands and groan, which only makes Wes chuckle. But instead of arguing with me, he moves his head lower. I feel a gentle tug on my thong, and then I realize he’s got his teeth on the hem of it. I prop myself up on my elbows and watch as he uses his teeth to pull the panties down over my hips. I lift my ass just enough to let him maneuver, but he seems surprisingly deft. He gets it all the way down to my thighs befor
e he uses his hands to push the fabric the rest of the way down.
My heart races as Wes nudges my knees apart. My head falls backwards. Even though I want to watch what he’s doing, the anticipation is too intense. My legs are already shaking, and even though I can’t see him, I can feel the heat of his body, of his breath, as he lowers his head between my thighs.
The second his tongue finds my clit, an arc of electricity shoots through my body. I feel like I’ve been zapped with something, and my entire body pulses and buzzes with the aftereffects.
Wes knows just what to do with his tongue. He strokes my folds, my crest, my swollen nub, moving between all three with finesse. I squirm underneath him, but he holds me in place. His hands seem to be everywhere at once, caressing the soft skin between my thighs, holding my hips, spreading my knees. My chest heaves as I struggle to breathe against the crushing tide of my mounting desire.
Wes seems oblivious to the fact that I’m practically dying here. He licks and sucks with abandon, teasing me one minute with the softest of kisses, and then nipping at my flesh with his teeth. An ache so good it hurts.
I clutch the white hotel duvet as hard as I can and try to focus on not screaming so loud the entire wedding party twenty-one floors down can hear me. But the climax rushes at me like a river, taking me away with it, washing everything away.
“Wes,” I manage to pant, but then I’m gone. Everything in my body clenches, tremors, arches. I make a sound that’s like something between a sigh and a scream. Wes doesn’t let up until my entire body is trembling, shaking under his hands, his lips. Only then does he sit up, a satisfied — and slightly smug — smile on his face.
“You have no idea how much time I’ve spent thinking about that today,” he says.
“Remind me to repay the favor some day,” I say weakly. I’m still quivering.
“Oh, I will,” he grins. “But not now. Right now I want to be inside you. Do you want that, Rori?”
I breathe in and nod. Wes is already undoing his belt, shoving the pants of his suit down over his hips. I gasp when his cock springs free. It’s fully hard already, jutting out from his body and bobbing heavily. It’s pink and veiny and perfect. I lick my lips and Wes notices.
“See something you like, Miss Holloway?”
I nod. “Oh yes.”
“Good.”
He fishes in the pocket of his pants for a small foil packet before tossing them to the floor. He rips it open with his teeth and sheaths himself. I brace myself as he positions himself over me, then run my palms over his shoulders, the flat planes of his chest. I wait for him to push into me, but instead he holds himself there. I look up and find him studying me intently.
“What?” I trace my fingers over the line of his jaw.
He shakes his head, as if coming out of a trance. “Nothing.”
He moves his body over me, letting his cock rub against the folds of my pussy. Coating himself in my wetness. Just that much closeness makes me tremble again, my pussy already clenching in anticipation.
“Now, Wes,” I groan. “I need you.”
And finally, blissfully, he sinks into me. It’s the same stretching feeling as the other times, the same feeling of exquisite fullness, but this time there’s something more to it. A feeling of completion. Of wholeness. Like my body belongs to Wes. Like it always has.
Almost as if he feels it too, Wes gazes down at me. His hips move slowly. None of the franticness of our other encounters. This is pure bliss. Deliberate, focused, intense. Every stroke feels like it pierces straight through my body, all the way to my heart, my soul. I cling to his shoulders as we move together. Our bodies drip sweat, our breath comes in short pants, and still we rock together. I can smell Wes’s cologne, and the musky wet scent of our sex. I lick a bead of sweat off his shoulder.
Wes groans, his thrusts picking up in speed and intensity. All I can do is hold onto him, let myself be carried away by this moment.
“Oh, God, Wes...” I moan. My voice trails off. I can’t speak. Can’t form words. I lean into the feeling, clenching my body around him.
The orgasm explodes through me. I clutch his shoulders and pull him as close to me as I can. He thrusts his hips harder, taking me higher, pushing me further.
I can tell the exact moment he lets go. An expression comes over his face, something like awe and ecstasy, and then he slows his thrusts, burying himself as deep as he can inside me. His shoulders shake and another bead of sweat appears on his forehead. I want to lick that one off too.
When it’s over, he collapses on top of me, planting a kiss on my collarbone. I wrap my arms around him, wanting to keep the feeling of closeness a little while longer. But soon, he rolls over, onto the cool and empty swath of bed beside me. I feel an ache as soon as his skin is no longer against mine. I sneak a glance over at him, but he seems to be a hundred miles away.
My heart doesn’t lift again until he winks at me and pats his chest, holding out his arm for me to curl up into.
“Come on over here, Roar,” he says.
And I do.
Thirty-One
By the time I wake up the next morning, the sun is already streaming in through the windows. We hadn’t bothered closing the blinds last night, and now the bright light is assaulting my eyes. I bury my face in the pillow and groan. It’s too early for this.
Or … wait. Is it? I fumble for my phone on the nightstand and scrunch my eyes open enough to check the time.
“Fuck!” I sit bolt upright. Wes jumps up, sucking in a breath and scanning the room, already on alert.
“What?”
“I totally forgot we’re supposed to be at this post-wedding brunch thing.”
“When?”
“In ten minutes.”
“Where?”
“Downstairs. In the hotel restaurant.”
“We can do it,” he says, scrubbing his face. “You probably even have time to have a quick shower.”
“Are you saying I smell?” I tease.
“No.” He nuzzles his nose against my shoulder, tickling me with the stubble of his jaw as he breathes in the scent of my skin. “I’m saying you smell like someone who spent the night getting thoroughly fucked.”
I grin, and despite the fact that my body already feels battered — in the best way possible — I can feel myself yearning for him again.
“You know, you could use a shower yourself. And since we only have ten minutes, there’s not enough time for two showers …”
I trail off and watch as Wes clues in to what I’m saying. In about two seconds he leaps up off the bed, the sheet falling away from his hard, toned body.
“Get in there,” he growls. “Because I’m going to soap every inch of you. I’m going to soap places you never even knew existed.”
I squeal as Wes chases me into the bathroom and then even more as he does exactly what he said he was going to do. Never has anyone felt so clean and yet so dirty at the same time.
We stumble into the restaurant a half hour later. My legs are still shaking, and I look around nervously for Celia, feeling guilty about the fact that we’re late. Except as I scan the crowd, I realize we’re not the only ones. Our group is still sparse and everyone is moving slowly this morning, some hung over and some tired and all of us feeling that post-wedding glow. Or post-shower glow, in my case.
I spot Celia and Jace right away and make a beeline over to their table, dragging Wes behind me.
“Good morning, newlyweds,” I say with a grin. “I suppose there’s no point in asking how you slept last night.”
Celia and Jace exchange a heated look and Celia shrugs, laughing.
“We’ll sleep on the plane later.” She looks up at me and then squints. “Judging by those circles under your eyes, I’m guessing you got about as much sleep as we did.”
My cheeks turn pink. “The mattress was a bit lumpy.”
“Mmhmm.” Celia grins and appraises Wes knowingly. “I love a good … lumpy mattress.”
&nb
sp; My flush intensifies. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Me either,” Jace admits, and I can tell by the way the table jostles and the way his eyebrows go up that Celia’s just kicked him under the table.
“Go get some food,” she says to me and Wes, nodding towards the buffet. “Then we’ll catch up.”
We escape to the omelette station, and I’m happy to get away from her knowing eyes. Sometimes it’s great having a best friend who can read you like a book, but other times it’s annoying as hell.
We order ham and cheese omelettes and take them back to the table. I find Celia’s saved me a spot beside her, so I squeeze in while she pours me a cup of coffee. Wes sits on the other side of the table with Jace. They fall into a conversation about the life-giving properties of coffee-spiked beer.
“You guys must be looking forward to getting away, now that the wedding stress is over,” I say to Celia, sawing into my eggs. I’m trying to keep the conversation focused on her and not me.
She nods. “I can’t wait. Neither of us have ever been to Hawaii, so it should be fun.”
I roll my eyes playfully. “Right. Because you’re going to spend so much time sight-seeing.”
“We might,” she says. Jace pauses his conversation long enough to smirk at her. She shrugs. “What? We could.”
I snicker as he leans across the table and kisses her jaw. Celia turns pink and giggles.
“Ok, you guys are just too cute. I’m trying to eat here.” I pretend to roll my eyes as I drink some of my coffee. Oh God, that hits the spot. Wes and Jace turn back to their conversation.
“You’re one to talk,” Celia points out quietly. “I saw you and Wes dancing last night.”
“Yeah — dancing. Everyone was doing it. It was a wedding, after all.” I pretend to roll my eyes.
