“It’s beautiful, even when you aren’t in it.” He folds his arms over his chest.
I crook a finger and wink. “Don’t be a spoilsport, cowboy. Come here.”
“You’re crazy.” His eyes are full of love as he toes his boots off. After emptying his pockets, he climbs in so hesitantly that it makes me snicker.
“We’re all a little crazy, baby, and that’s half the fun,” I whisper, pulling him under the spray with me.
Wrapping his arms around my waist, he presses his wet body against mine. “I love you.”
The smile on my face spreads—though I thought it wasn’t even possible—and the pounding of my chest against its confines rings in my head. “You love me?”
Call me a glutton, but I just want to hear it again.
“I do.” He wipes the wet hair off my face. “You’re every dream I’ve ever laid awake at night wishing for, and your every sin I’ve ever wanted to indulge in. You’re my fantasy and my reality every day. I love you, London.”
“I love you, too.” My lips crash onto his, and he sucks my bottom lip between his lips in a feverish kiss.
Branson told me he loved me as we stood in a fountain, soaking wet in our clothes the night I met his parents, and it was absolute perfection.
After toweling off my hair from the quick shower I’d taken in his bathroom, I slide into the somewhat skimpy pajamas I brought with me.
“Your mama’s somethin’ special,” I tell Branson, lying down on the bed beside him.
He puts his iPad on the dresser, props himself up on his elbow, and looks down at me. “She likes you.”
“I like her, too,” I whisper, my voice faltering a little as his hand settles over the thin cotton of my shirt on my stomach.
His thumb trails over my belly button as he speaks. “She’s the one who picked out our fountain.”
My eyebrows pull together. “Our fountain?”
“The moment I told you I loved you while ruining my clothes in it, it became our fountain,” he teases.
Burrowing my head into the pillow, I laugh. “Well, your mama has wonderful taste. I love that fountain.”
“I love you.” He’s quick with the words, but his eyes light up as he says them.
Fluttering my eyes a little at the realization that this is my life, I whisper back, “I love you, Branson.”
“You better. Now”—he pauses dramatically—“do you think we could stop talking about my mom when you’re half-naked in my bed for the first time?” He grins.
I blush hard before running my fingers over the stubble on his face. “I think I could manage that.”
His fingers drag across my lower stomach, teasing the top edge of my booty shorts. “What did the doctor say about sex?” he rumbles, his voice deep and thick. “Will it hurt you?”
“The doctor didn’t mention anything about sex.” The words practically drip from my mouth in a whine.
“I guess we’ll have to be very”—he blows over the space between my legs—“very careful. Won’t we?”
Oh, lord.
THE BLUE IN HER EYES darkens as I blow over the thin fabric separating my mouth from where it so desperately wants to taste. I’ve needed her since the first time our skin touched, and not having had her yet has been one of the cruelest forms of torture. But I would endure it indefinitely if I had to. After our first kiss, I knew I would wait. That I would wait until she was ready to give all of herself to me.
I’d given her all of me long before she was ready to have it.
Kissing my way back up her stomach, I make sure to rest all my weight on my forearms so I don’t hurt her. As much as I want her, if I thought for even a fraction of a second that it would injure her, I would stop and take one hell of a cold shower.
“Branson,” she moans as I squeeze her breasts through her thin tank top.
Leaning over, I bite down on one of her perky nipples over the fabric. She’s writhing on the bed as I tease her repeatedly without taking her shirt off.
“Please.”
The plea in her voice has my already untamed hard-on pressing against my boxers. “Please what?” I croon, flicking her nipple.
“I want to feel you on them,” she whimpers, and the sound is my undoing.
Sitting up on my knees, one on either side of her slim hips, I curl my fingers into the base of her shirt. “Lift your arms.”
She obeys, eagerly lifting them above her head as I inch the cotton up. When her sweet breasts finally appear, I can’t get her shirt off her fast enough. I don’t pay attention to where I toss it in the room—it could have gone out the window for all I care.
When she lies down again, she arches her back, so I suck one of her nipples into my mouth, pinching and rolling the other with my fingers.
“Mmm. So soft,” I praise her before repeating the process.
“Ah!” Her hips buck.
My girl likes it a little rough.
“Do you like that?” I ask her, my voice thick with need. This time, I bite a little harder.
“Yesss,” she hisses, her hands grabbing at my hair.
After kissing in the center of her chest, I begin to nip and tease my way over her stomach.
“I-I-I . . .” Her words aren’t matching what her brain is trying to say, and I love it.
“Are you wet for me?” I growl before kissing just above her panty line and then blowing on the damp skin.
She tries to squeeze her legs together, but I push them open with my elbows.
“Answer me, angel,” I demand, my voice never rising. Then I trail a finger down the center of her shorts.
She sucks in a breath before saying, “Yes, Branson. I’m wet for you.”
I trail the seam until I slip a finger inside, running between her folds. “Mmm. I haven’t even put my finger inside you and I can tell you’re dripping for me. Do you know how sexy that is?”
She doesn’t answer. Her head thrashes back and forth on the pillow as she moans incoherently instead. I think she curses at me, and that only makes me want to draw it out. Watching my girl lose control for the first time is most certainly a moment I want to savor.
After slipping my finger back out, I hook into the edges of her shorts, pulling them down her long legs.
I want her bare for me.
It’s no surprise that she’s absolutely perfect there too. The space between her legs is soft and smooth, her sweet, fair skin just a little bit pink, and my mouth waters.
I kneel at the foot of the bed, making sure to lift her with me as opposed to dragging her so I don’t injure that sweet ass of hers any further. After I drape her left leg over my shoulder, I kiss the inside of her thigh and repeat with her right.
“I’ve wanted to taste you for so long,” I growl as I slide my finger between her lips again before pushing one inside her.
She’s absolutely soaked as I work her. I stretch her with one finger. Then I add a second. She fists her hands into the bed sheets, attempting to buck her hips, but my forearm is keeping her from relieving any of the torturous pleasure.
After pulling my fingers out, I lift them to my mouth. She’s given me her full attention now at the loss of them. Sucking both fingers into my mouth, I groan involuntarily.
“So fucking sweet.”
“Please, Branson. I need more,” she begs, watching me desperately.
Dipping my head, I lick from the opening of her sweet pussy up to her clit and suck it into my mouth.
“Oh, God.” Her hands fist into my hair, pushing me closer to her.
She’s unashamed of how badly she wants my mouth on her, and it’s beautiful. It also makes me a goddamned ravenous animal wanting to devour her.
I lick and suck, adding fingers or my tongue, until she’s worked up a thin sheen of sweat all over her body. “Are you going to come for me, London?”