She was quiet, like she was thinking on my words. I didn’t push. Instead I rubbed her back, slipped my fingers under her shirt. I was after her skin.
Abruptly, she caught my hands on their way to her breast. “This whole time, you’ve been stalling? Because you wanted complete privacy?”
“Just for now.” I tried moving my hand again, but she had a firm hold on me. I could easily break it. I didn’t. Instead, I waited.
“I thought . . .”
When she didn’t continue, I shifted away so I could see her face. Her eyes were searching for mine and she brought her fingers to my cheek like she was touching me in lieu of seeing me.
Now she’d released my hand, I continued my upward progress until I cupped her through her bra, loving the generous weight and yielding suppleness of her breast. I began pulling down the cup, planning to take her nipple between my teeth. I moved my knee to the junction of her thighs and my mouth watered in anticipation.
“What did you think?” I whispered.
“I thought, since you’re trying to wait until marriage, you didn’t want to do anything with me.”
“What?” My single word arrived sharper than I’d intended. I saw we had some things that needed discussing. “No, no, no. God, no. All I think about is you, doing things to you. And trying to figure out how to do those things away from prying eyes and ears.”
Her lips flattened. She didn’t look convinced.
I pressed a quick kiss to her sweet lips. “Sienna, this afternoon, did Susie tell you to take a nap?”
She hesitated for a minute before admitting, “Yes.”
“And Dave?”
“Yes.”
“I asked them to do that. I have hot chocolate and champagne in the truck. And tequila. I put the sleeping bags, blankets, and pillows in the cab on Monday. I’ve been counting down the days, putting all the pieces in motion. Getting you alone, out here and awake, this has been in the works since early last week. I’m desperate for you.” I kissed her again, pulling down the cup of her bra and sliding my palm over her perfectly shaped breast.
Fuck. She felt so fucking good. Heaven in my hands.
I wanted her. Right now.
I wanted her little, panting, hitching breaths and her loud, abandoned moans. And now I knew she was a happy screamer, I wanted her screams, too.
“Wait.” She twisted her mouth from mine and caught my hand again. “Wait, stop.”
I stopped, but groaned my dissatisfaction. “What? What is it?”
“I don’t want you to go down on me.” Her words were breathless but I heard conviction in her tone.
“Why?” I asked through gritted teeth, because I did want it. As much as I’d needed her mouth on me before, I needed my mouth on her sweet body. Needed the taste of her. Needed it.
“Because I didn’t give you a blow job because I wanted reciprocation. I did it because I need you to-to-to accept my affection. I have feelings for you—deep, important, overwhelming feelings—and I have to be able to show you how I feel.”
“Fine. Done. You can show me while I taste you.” I moved to kiss her again, shifting my thigh between her legs.
“Jethro, stop. You’re not listening to me.” Her grip on my roaming hands tightened and I growled my frustration.
My patience was at an end.
I couldn’t be this close without taking some part of her for myself, so I pulled my hands and body away. I rolled onto my back, shoving my palms into my eye sockets. My heart galloped. Blood pounded between my ears and rushed with needful intent to my dick.
“Let me know when you’re calm enough to talk,” she said, her tone even. Completely fucking reasonable.
She didn’t apologize and I was glad. She had nothing to be sorry for.
But, Christ almighty, I was shaking with how badly I needed to touch her. I was sweating with it. And that wasn’t her fault.
Time. I needed time.
And space.
I pushed myself upright and edged to the tailgate, jumping down. In my peripheral vision I saw she’d also sat up and was trying to figure out what I was up to. Likely, to her eyes, I was a black mass against the dark field and sky.
“Jethro?” She sounded uncertain. I didn’t like that.
I cleared my throat and tried to mimic her earlier reasonable tone. “I need a drink. You want something? I have hot chocolate.”
She hesitated before asking, “Do you think it’s still hot?”
“Should be. It’s in my camping thermos.”
“Then yes, please.”
I walked to the driver’s side and opened the door while I considered taking off my shirt. I was still hot. I knew of a pond not far from here I could jump in. It wouldn’t be precisely cold at seventy or so degrees, but it might do the trick.