Page 97 of Dream House
And, God, I can’t get enough. I need more. Yet what I need can’t happen here in the front hall. With my body overwhelmed with sensation, my brain pinballs between options. Bedroom? Desire screams,Yes!But executive functioning lays down a disapprovingNo.
Frustrated with both, I clasp Lark by the wrist at my waist, break the kiss, and tug him wordlessly toward the living room. He doesn’t hesitate, but he also doesn’t take his eyes off mine. Even in the moonlight, the look he’s giving me could turn sugar crystals into syrup.
I only step on one of Maisy’s stuffed animals—the turtle, I’m guessing—but since turtles don’t really make noise, there’s no squeaker, thank God.
And with virtually no effort at all, I’m on my back on Nanna’s couch, Lark’s delicious weight on top of me. I draw my knees up, and he sinks into the cradle of my thighs, pressing his hard length against my soft knot of nerves.
Good God. No one else has touched me there in years. I’m dizzy. Humming.
“Is this okay?” he asks between kisses.
It is so much more than okay, I have a hard time forming words.
“Mmm mmm-hmm.”
His chuckle is a tickle against my neck, and his right hand finds the back of my left thigh. “God, you’re so soft.” He says it like it hurts him. “I’ve wanted to touch you forever.”
At this confession, the skin across my breastbone feels too tight and too light at the same time. He props himself on his left elbow, gazing down at me. I can see well enough to read his hesitation.
I run my fingers up and down his ribs. “What is it?”
Lark’s eyes are so defenseless, I raise a hand to his cheek.
“Have you thought about this?” he asks.
I smile at the bald question and giggle when it makes me want to hide my face in the gold upholstery. His brow arches, but a smile tugs at those lips. “Is that a yes or a no?”
I laugh and again draw him down to kiss him. It feels safer to have him this close while I risk the truth. “Yes. I’ve thought about this,” I whisper.
His exhale is audible, a gruff breath of relief and gratification, and then he kisses me hard, grinds into me harder. I light up like the Eiffel Tower. And because I like what this does to him, I give him more.
“Since that first day,” I admit against his lips.
“Mmmm.”His moan is a shot of bliss filled to the rim. If I could, I’d order a flight of them.
ChapterSeventeen
LARK
Is this really happening?
Or am I having a fever dream—awetfever dream—because my AC is out?
God, please let this be happening.
Even though it shouldn’t. I know it shouldn’t. I promised Stella I wouldn’t cross this line. And I wouldn’t have.
Except she crossed it first. I think.
And now that her soft body is beneath me, and I’ve captured the taste of those teasing lips, I want to erase every line that ever ran between us.
“Stella.” I breathe her name behind the shell of her ear because she’s letting me. Her breath catches in the most ball-tightening way. I want to touch her. I want to taste her.
But more than touching and tasting, I want to give to her.
I want to be the reason Stella loses her breath, stutters her words, and cries out in desire.
I want that here and now. If she lets me go there.
