“Still so damn gorgeous,” he said, and his mouth was on me again, his fingers reaching up and pulling my hair out of its tie. As it fell and hit my shoulders, his throat rumbled with desire. I pushed his shirt up and over his neck and gasped at the muscles I saw.
But that was short-lived because he was kissing me so hard, with such profound need, that all I could do was run my hands along his shoulders and the smooth ridges of his back. I couldn’t believe how ripped he’d gotten. He had always been toned, but now, good God, he was beautiful.
His mouth was on my neck, at my collarbone, on my breasts and he groaned into my skin murmuring my name as he went. I was overcome with emotion and longing, wetness pooling between my legs. It was like a dream that he was here, that he was kissing me again. I never wanted it to end.
He lifted me and turned, moving deeper into the room. The back of my knees hit the chaise longue, the same one he’d sat in countless times over the years. One night we had even secretly made out in it, the summer we’d hidden our attraction. I could scarcely sit there without remembering how it felt to have his tongue in my mouth. But the reality was so much better.
He stood and began unbuttoning his pants, his gaze roving all over me, his eyes glittering pinpoints of hunger. My breath faltered just watching him and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I leaned forward and began touching and kissing every inch of his skin that I could reach.
He squatted down in front of me and hooked his hands beneath my knees, hauling me toward him so that the crux of my thighs was at eye level. His palm glided over the damp center of my underwear and my legs begin to tremble. “Your smell turns me on.”
I moaned as he corkscrewed two of his fingers into the soft middle panel, locating my entrance. “Oh God.”
I was a panting, quaking mess and all he’d done was touch me over my panties.