Chapter Twenty-Nine

Kit

Lust ripples over me.

What if I tear the buttons of her pressed white blouse and watch them spray across the bed? What if I nibble her earlobe and fist her hair?

My hands grapple for a hold on every tiny curve of her body. She tongues between my collarbone and then down, down, until she's between my cleavage. Her hand on my shoulder tugs at the strap of my dress, pulling it loose from its place until it makes space between my breast and the fabric.

"Can I?" she breathes, the act of questioning just as titillating as the suggestion. I nod, unable to speak, my words trapped by the grip of desire. She pulls my dress away and my breast slips out. I watch her eyes widen, desire written in her aqua irises, before she flicks my nipple with her tongue, taking it entirely into her mouth.

My blood pulses into every hidden crevice. The sensation of her tongue swirling over my nipple is madness I want to give all the way in to, but then her hand sweeps up my thigh, gripping my ass over the skirt of my dress, and my hips buck up like a bronco. She releases my breast from her mouth, catching it with her hand and sweeping her thumb over the nipple. My body screams and I tip my head back.

"You're right," she says as she exposes my other breast. "Your tits are paradise." She raises her hand to cup it, smiling at the already hard nipple.

I want to reciprocate, to feel her skin on my skin. "Unbutton your shirt."

She leans up, and I can tell by her smirk that she's pleased to take my order seriously. She makes quick work of the buttons, exposing her simple nude bra. I reach out, taking the edges of the shirt in hand and shoving it off her shoulders. I reach behind to unclip the bra clasp and let it fall between us. When I lean back, her tan nipples, edged in the faintest hint of pink, small and perky, wink back. I can't control myself; I don't even try. I take one in my hand, tweaking the nipple, and then cover it with my mouth. I spin my tongue around it, grabbing at Julia's thighs, her hips. Wanting to climb on top of her, wanting to strip her thighs bare, rip her panties off and cast them in the fire, spread her lips and taste.

It's too much feeling, too much want— too much too much too much —exploding all over my skin, through my limbs, directly into my veins. I'm going to shatter and then I won't be able to have her, and all I want is to have her.

I wrap my arms around her, holding her against me, and we drift to lie down against the mattress. Our kisses slow, turning soft, and she tugs the blanket up over our bodies. I pull away, pressing my forehead to hers and breathing out heavily, so full of meaning. I try not to spiral over her breasts and mine brushing, naked. I want to feel this and not feel the need to run away. I want to be in this, completely, for real.

"Are you okay?" she asks, breathless herself.

"I feel like my insides are going to burst out," I say, but my hands have a mind of their own. They trek over her rib cage and draw a line down the smooth, taut expanse of her stomach. She brushes the hair off my face, pressing the tip of her nose to mine.

"I'm scared, too," she whispers, her breath grazing across my cheek. "I haven't felt this free in a long time. I forgot what it was like to unclench."

I kiss her softly. "I wanna make a pact."

"Like a blood oath," she quips, grinning. "I'm afraid I don't have my pocketknife."

"We can find another way to seal the deal," I reply, feeling naughty. I nudge my hips closer.

"I'm listening," she says, and now her hands are the restless ones. They draw circles on my thigh, getting higher and higher with every swirl.

"No more denying. No more pretending. No more playing roles." Her eyes widen and fix on mine, and I think that even without me saying it aloud she knows that I see her denial of self runs deeper than just her clothes, the missing piercings, the shaved head. "We be us."

Just like we always were when we were together. Back then, we knew we had each other's back, and it made everything—all the hard things and all the good ones, too—so much easier, sweeter, better.

"Us," she says.

"Us." I kiss her with everything in me.

All the feelings that make me afraid I'll implode.

All the want, the need I haven't dared acknowledge my whole life.

It all floods to the surface of my skin.

As the kiss deepens, we begin to move. Twisting together until Julia is on top of me, working my dress over my head and surveying the spoils of her efforts. Her eyes drop to my light pink underwear, her lips falling open, her tongue practically wagging. Her hands glide over my thighs and hips, fingers delicate as they tempt the edges of my underwear. Her face is close to my pussy; the only thing between her tongue and my pleasure is a thin barrier of fabric.

"Can I?" she asks.

"Anything," I breathe.

She inches my panties down down down , kissing my thighs, touching the tender skin gently with her fingers, sending shivers of pleasure through me. When she returns her attention between my legs, she takes her time to learn the curves of my body all over again.

I've never had a woman go down on me. I don't know what to expect.

She gently spreads my folds with her fingers, using her thumb to apply pressure to my clit. I clutch my breast, undulating toward the pressure, feeling on the edge but not wanting to tip over just yet. Then her mouth takes over, kissing and licking, taking liberties with every crevice until the only thing I can do is gasp.

Her tongue dips inside and her fingers follow.

My body lets go as I tumble over the edge, buckling against her skin. The orgasm crashes through every remaining wall I tried to keep up, like my body wants to confirm every salacious thought and filthy, beautiful desire I've kept locked inside for so long.

When I finish, she drifts up to kiss my neck, touching my breasts, painting circles in the crevices of my elbows. She presses against my thigh with her pleasure. I'm shaking, untethered, but still I want to touch every part of her. Make her lose herself in the moment.

Show her it's safe to let go.

I tug at the button on her pants and she lets me slip it open.

Down, off, revealing simple white cotton undies and a dark, delicious bush showing through the fabric. I pull them down, taking in the sight of her. She's perfect. Her hair a supple brown, her skin tan. I use my fingers at first, slipping them between the folds until I can see her flower. She's deliciously wet; it takes very little urging before her moans grow hot and heavy. Her hips pulse in a rhythm with my fingers and I slip one inside her.

Then another.

I kiss her clit before flicking it with my tongue. Her hips buck, affirming that's the spot.

She knows this is my first time, but she trusts me, and that trust is a boost to my self-confidence. I can make her scream.

I want to.

My tongue touches her clit. She squeezes her legs in and a heady moan releases from her mouth. I'm lost in her taste, like it's the most delicious, decadent dessert, and with every stroke of my fingers and every press of my tongue, I can feel her getting closer.

She slams her hands to the bed, her fists clenching, yanking, her body shaking.

And when she comes against my tongue, I feel it ripple through my own body—the most powerful, magnificent ocean wave.

She tugs me up to kiss her, and I taste the salt of tears on her skin. Her lips quake and she turns her face to bury it in my neck. I pull the blanket up around us, my own tears threatening to fall.

Her eyes find mine. "I missed you." She brushes a tear from my cheek.

"Now you don't have to."

Ever again.