Page 130 of The Score

"Pen." I put a hand on her face. "I said I would make a plan—"

I don't get to finish the sentence. Her hands fist my shirt and pull me to her. Her mouth crushes to mine. The speech I prepared disappears from my mind, when her tongue makes it into my mouth.

I moan. It's been only a few days since we decided to do this, and her kiss still feels new. The need for her mouth darts through me, using my veins for highways, and I bring her as close to me as possible, so she can never stop giving me her lips. She's secure in my arms but I want more. I lift her off her feet.

"Leon, if you make me wait any longer, I'm going to lose my mind."

I gaze up at her. The sky is a golden halo around her, and the tall tree branches above us her crown. A gust of wind plays with her hair, but her eyes are locked on me. Asking for me.

"Got it." I nod. "Now hold on."

She surrounds me with arms and legs, and I drop to my knees on a mix of blanket and cushions. She kisses my temple, my neck, my face as I hinge forward and place her on soft textures.

A mild, complaining sound comes out of her when I land on her. I try to give her room, but she holds me close.

"No. No. Kiss me," she says.

I do. I settle between her thighs, resting my weight on my elbows this time. For all the playing and teasing we've done, I have taken care to not end between her legs. Whatever force drove me to take my time with her, it knew I wouldn't resist once I found a home in her, surrounded by her. With the way my insides burn, and with the way my heart manages to make itself known despite all my failsafes, I was right.

I kiss her jaw, her neck. This is where I've needed to be. I've wanted to lay claim to moments like this with Pen, even when I didn't know it. Fuck. I wasn't supposed to want this. Now that I have it, I don't know how I ever thought I'd resist.

Her hands make paths on my skin, sneaking under my shirt, poking under my waistband. We're kissing again but she wants more of me and, hell, I want more of her, too. I take off her shirt. She lays back in her bra and a flowy skirt, which I scrunch up her thighs. She's wearing biking shorts underneath, and I slide those down her legs as well. Her skin is too glorious to be hidden under something as mundane as clothing. I need it under my hands. Never stopping our kiss, I skim palms and fingers everywhere I can reach.

Her hands are all over me, too. My shirt is in the way, and she pulls until I take it off my back myself. She runs hungry fingers over my thick chest, and down my padded torso. Fading sunlight falls around us, casting her body in hues of orange and blue.

She bites her lip, eyes raking down my tattoos, following her own hands on me. My chest constricts. Emotions I've never known hammer against my ribcage. In another life, she would have been my wife in love.

"Are we good?" I ask.

These thoughts— they're as dangerous as ever. After twenty years, she only expects friendship from me. Even now. When I agreed to help her with her bucket list, I did it as a friend. And I meant it, dammit. Allowing myself romantic feelings makes me a liar, and that's the worst I can be. But I can't imagine anything more honest than one day loving Pen like this, too.

I don't know how to make all of this fit together.

"Yes." She digs her nails on the round of my hips. "More."

If nothing else, I'm helping her take this risk she used to dream of, years ago. Like I promised.

I come down to my new favorite place in the world, and drop another kiss on her. Pen's hands land on my ass, keeping me pressed against her.

"Finally." She bites my lip. "More."

I raise an eyebrow and kiss her cheek. Nibble on her earlobe. Speak softly to her ear.

"Tell me what you want."

"Fuck me out here. Quick. Before someone catches us."

I kiss the corner of her mouth, just as I cup one of her breasts with a hand.

I smile against her mouth. "Tsk, Penélope. Are you asking your husband to have his way with you in the open?"

"Yes. Bear. Please."

"Erase that word from your mouth." I stare down at her. "I can't stand hearing you asking like that."

I pull at the cup of her bra, until the puckered tip is free. She's breathing fast, and her chest raises and falls with her need for oxygen. I use two fingers to tease her, just hovering over her nipple, letting her own movements create the most subtle friction. She gazes around, like needing to make sure we're alone, before her eyes lock on the little game. It's only then that I roll the tip gently between thumb and forefinger, and she whimpers.

"Making you feel good isn't a damn favor," I grumble. "You will demand what you need from me."