All or Nothing(23)

Then I parted her legs and set my mouth to the slick, wet folds of her sex.

She whimpered my name. God, I loved the breathy sound of it coming off her lips like that. Like she was wound tight, ready to come, and I was the only one who could get her there.

I investigated her with my tongue before sucking her clit into my mouth and listening to the sweet sound of her cry. Her fingers found my hair and tugged me up. I obeyed the wordless command, moving my body up the bed until I hovered over her.

Her kiss-swollen lips parted. Her cheeks flushed. I wanted to remember her like this. Her blue eyes softened as I looked down at her, the passion there weaved with tenderness that tore at something in my chest. I slid on a condom and settled over her again. She lifted her hips off the bed, rocking herself against my erection.

Her name left my lips and my breath left my lungs as I slid into her. Hot and tight and amazing. I tried to take it slow, to give her time, but she shifted under me and drew her legs around my waist, pulling me deep, draining my restraint.

I kept kissing her. I didn’t want to stop kissing her. So as our bodies moved, our tongues met again and again, and I abused her lips with my greedy mouth until she gasped against me, close to coming.

Sliding my hand between our bodies, I found her clit and stroked it with my thumb until she squeezed me so tight I wasn’t sure I could get her there before I lost control.

I drew back to watch her. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me feel you come.” Then I pressed deep, and she pulsed hard and tight around me and pulled me into the abyss with her.





Things I could have guessed correctly if they’d been on a test:

1. Kennedy Hale was a fucking spectacular lover.

2. His lovemaking made all the other douchebags I’d slept with look like fumbling idiots.

3. Now that I had him in bed with me, I never wanted to leave.

His eyes were half closed, his lips a breath from mine. I didn’t ever want to leave this bed. I didn’t want to go back to the real world where nothing was simple. I just wanted to sit here with Kennedy’s scruff scratching my skin as he nuzzled the side of my neck.

I ran my hands over the muscles of his back. I wanted to paint this man. To sketch him with charcoal. To bring him to life with pastels. He was so gorgeous, and if I could capture him in my notebook, I could take my memories to Paris with me. I sighed.

The clock beside the bed read five-oh-nine, and if I wanted any hope of catching Everly’s show in Cleveland, I needed to leave now.

“Come with me tomorrow,” he murmured.

“What?”

His brow was furrowed, as if he was thinking about something difficult. “We’re hosting a lunch for the board tomorrow. I want to tell them that I’m not coming home, that I’m going to take a chance with football.”

I sat up. “Shut up.”

“I’d rather not.” He grinned at me. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation here.”

“Kennedy…” My throat was thick, and the words didn’t want to come out.

“Maybe you can teach me something about taking a risk.”

“You totally just made my day.”

He winced. “Seriously, you can’t say that to a guy when the other part of your day was amazing sex.”

Pushing him to his back, I straddled his hips and took his hands in each of mine. “Amazing, huh?”

He grinned, running hungry eyes over my bare breasts. “Fucking spectacular. I’m not too proud to admit that. What about you?”

I lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “It was all right, I guess.”

“You’re killing me, Picasso.” His hands went for my sides, tickling me until I doubled over with laughter.

“Slightly…better than…average,” I managed between squeals.

His hands shifted from my sides to my ass and suddenly he was rolling us over so I was on my back and the delicious weight of his body was on top of mine. “In that case, I demand a rematch.”

His kiss was firm and coaxing. As I parted my lips to taste him, he parted my thighs with one of his.

I was going to be late for Everly’s performance.





Donuts downstairs for my junk food junkie. See you at the Pancake Breakfast. –K

Yawning, I set the note back onto the nightstand, where Kennedy had left it for me. I climbed out of bed and padded toward the shower.

I couldn’t stop smiling as I washed my hair and shaved my legs. When I’d gotten back to Kennedy’s house after the concert last night, the house was quiet. I climbed into his bed, and he was already there. He pulled my body against his before he set about seducing me with the slow movements of his deft hands and the heat of his mouth against my neck. We made love slowly and silently, our hands intertwined in the darkness.