16. The Good Stuff

Monroe

Screw the experiment. I might regret this in a minute. I might regret this in the morning.

If I were a better man, I'd stop right now, but I'm not a better man. I'm the man who wants this woman. Badly.

I shut down all the rational thoughts as I run my thumb over Juliet's bottom lip.

I've missed these lips. Missed this mouth. Wondered too much lately if she tastes as tempting as she did years ago.

I need the answer now, but I also want to take all night finding out. Somehow, I resist for another few seconds, letting the want build as I touch her once again.

She feels extraordinary.

Anticipation thrums between us, a buzzing in the air, a charge in my cells.

She looks up at me, waiting, eager. Trembling. Words press against my brain, trying to make landfall on my tongue. Like I can't stop thinking about you. And it drives me crazy that you're dating. And is it the same for you at all?

I can't risk voicing those thoughts, especially when I can't back them up with action. But this action? I can do this. I spread my hand across her cheek, hold her face and drop my mouth to hers.

Everything spirals away in the press of her lips, the taste of her mouth, the feel of her soft body melting against me.

She tastes like lipstick and Woodford Reserve. And the biggest-hearted person I've ever known.

I don't want to stop kissing her, so I don't rush. I brush my lips over hers, exploring every inch of her mouth, kissing the corner here, the corner there, then tugging on her bottom lip before I cover her mouth again. I take my time, savoring every sip of this kiss like it's the good stuff I just ordered at the bar. She is the good stuff.

And I luxuriate in every detail of Juliet Dumont. The soft gust of her breath. The sweet sound of her sighs. Most of all, the way she grips my jacket.

Like she doesn't want to let go either.

Then, how she moves with me, parting her lips as I kiss her more deeply, more insistently.

My hand roams to her hair, playing with the soft little tendrils framing her face. A pang of longing digs into my chest. It's not even a longing for more kissing, though of course I want that. It's a longing I can't name. One I don't fully understand.

One I just feel.

I kiss her harder, more passionately, memorizing every single second of this kiss as time falls through my fingers and becomes the past all over again.

Maybe that's what I'm longing for—the present not to stop.

I try to imprint the details of this moment. Her scent, like vanilla and honey. Her hair, soft and lush. Her body, warm and inviting.

Most of all, the way she gives. Juliet is the most open person I've known. She opens her heart to people. Right now, she's opening her soul to this kiss.

There's no reticence from her. Just pure, unadulterated want. She responds like a dream, leaning back, roping her arms around my neck, trusting me, giving me all her kisses, all her touches.

I don't deserve her, but I haul her against me anyway, our bodies colliding in a hot spark. Electricity sizzles so brightly up my spine that I break the kiss.

"Wow," I murmur.

Her smile is soft and kind of amazed. "Funny thing. I thought you were going to say that when I arrived at the bar."

"Wow?"

"Yes."

"I almost did," I admit.

"You didn't want to break character," she says, her breath still coming fast.

Mine is too. "He wouldn't have said wow."

She plays with the ends of my hair, asking, "But you felt the wow?"

"I felt the fucking wow," I rasp out, my gaze locked with hers. "I still feel the wow. I feel all the fucking wow."

She nibbles on the corner of her lips then tilts her head. "I'd like to feel the fucking wow."

Hot flames burn inside me everywhere. I tug her toward the waiting limo, but before I can open the door, I'm already missing her lips. It's been too long since I touched her. I yank her against me, kissing her once more. Deep, hard, a little possessive.

No. A lot possessive. Enough for the whole damn town of Darling Springs to know the dating experiment is mine and mine alone. Before I know it, I've got a hand on her ass, and I'm hiking up her leg, and kissing her like we're one of those kisses.

The kind everyone wants.

The kind that generates…clapping?

I break the contact, snapping my gaze toward the sound. Two men are strolling past us on the sidewalk. "Told you so, hun," the man in the paisley shirt says to the woman in my arms.

Juliet laughs. "You sure did, Bowen."

The other man, the one in the vest, gives me an approving once-over then turns to Juliet. "Like I said. Yesss and please and sir."

"I know. Trust me, I know," she says, like they're best friends already.

He's holding the other man's hand when he calls out, "And save the date, hun. Three weeks from now, come to our wedding at the lavender farm."

He gives a time and a date, then they wave goodbye.

I have a ton of questions, but I don't even have the patience to ask what that was about in this second. Instead, I haul her into the car, then tell the driver to just drive, and when he says yes and raises the partition, I pull Juliet onto my lap.

"I can't stop thinking about you," I blurt out, and I probably will regret saying that. I can't back it up. I can't act on it. But I just can't keep it locked up inside any longer. Maybe I'm intoxicated on one glass of whiskey.

Though I'm not. Maybe I'm intoxicated on her.

"Same here," she says, sinking down on my lap, straddling me, and then grinding against my erection.

My brain scrambles. My chest is a furnace. And one kiss meant to prove bad boys do one thing better is dangerously close to turning into…well, the thing I want most.

As she rocks against me, she takes the wheel. Grabbing my face, thrusting her body, taking her pleasure.

Seeking it like a huntress. Deserving it too. She's all questing determination and hungry desire, rocking her hips, holding me hard, and using me.

It's the hottest thing I've ever seen.

It's a new side of Juliet.

This isn't the Juliet from eight summers ago. It's the new Juliet, and she's full of craving.

I roam my hands up her back, touching the satin of the corset, and her soft bare skin too. Pulling her impossibly closer, kissing her as she rides my hard-on.

She's relentless as she rocks, and thrusts, and then bites the corner of my mouth.

"Fuck yes," I rasp out, loving this newer, wilder side of her.

She just moans then slams her mouth to mine, kissing me sloppily. Moaning against my mouth. Panting.

Oh fuck.

Oh hell.

I know that sound. I'll remember it forever. She's close. So close. "Let me get you there," I command.

"Please…" she says, the word trailing off.

In a heartbeat, I'm on her jeans, unbuttoning, unzipping, then I slide my hand inside her panties.

She's hot and needy. She angles up giving me room, and I take it, coasting my fingers through the paradise of her wet pussy. "Wow," I whisper.

There's a smile, then a soft moan, then a loud, "Oh god."

"So fucking wet. So fucking beautiful," I say as I stroke her, flicking a finger across the swollen nub of her clit.

She lets her head fall back. "Yes. More," she says, practically begging.

I answer the call, following her cues, stroking faster as she rocks, pinching her needy clit then kissing a path up her chest to the hollow of her throat. "Missed this so much," I whisper against her, barely aware of what I'm saying.

Just needing to say it as her soft breathless sounds fill the back of the limo. As her desire steals all my thoughts.

"Missed hearing you come. Need to hear it now. I have to hear it now, baby," I say, chasing her pleasure with my fingers, and my words, and my kisses.

Then finding it, as she grasps my shoulders hard. Ferociously. Then she shudders against me and cries out. A long, sensual ohhhhhh turns into yes, yes, yes.

I don't relent. I don't let up as she rides my fingers into her climax in the back of the limo. Then, she's shaking, shuddering, and smiling too.

She opens her eyes, and blinks, sighs. "So that was…"

"Yeah, it was." And I show her how much I liked it by licking each finger.

When I finish, her eyes are big and glossy. And so's her appetite, judging by the way she glances down at the outline of my hard cock.

But before I can even say, "We're not done," the car stops, jerking me out of the deliciously filthy moment and into a very real one.

I peer out the tinted window. I guess when I said, Just drive, the driver interpreted that to mean, Just drive home.

The partition lowers. "Will this do?" the driver asks.

I don't believe in signs. Never have. But if I did, this would seem like a sign that it's time for the irrational part of the night to end before it goes too far.

I clear my throat, adopting my best professional tone. "Yes. Thank you."

Trying to reset the night, I turn to Juliet. "We're here."

No shit. Tell her something she doesn't know.

She brushes her hair from her cheek, zips her jeans, and smooths a hand over her wildly sexy corset. "Right. Yes. I should…get to bed. Busy day tomorrow." She grabs her purse. "We need to start painting. I think we forgot to get a roller pan?"

Right. Sprucing up the house. The reason we're here. Not to relive the past. Or to tease a future we can't have. "Yeah. Paint. Roller. That."

I can barely form sentences, my mind is so buzzed on her.

I open the door and say goodnight to the driver. We head into The Horny House together.

But also, apart.