Page 88 of A Witch in Notting Hill

“You have no idea.”

He dropped me onto the bed, watching with heavy eyes as I undid his belt and pushed his pants to the floor. “You drive me insane,” he whispered.

“That makes two of us.”

I melted at the sight of his slow smile. He leaned over me until I was on my back, then planted both hands on either side of my head and brought his lips back to mine. His kisses were slower, teasing, and I couldn’t stop myself from arching into him. Close wasn’t close enough. I needed more.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, slipping a strap of my dress from my shoulder and kissing the newly exposed skin.

“Please.”

At that single syllable, Oliver began to peel my dress down my body, tracing his lips over my jaw, my collarbone, the edge of my bra, the curve of my waist, my hip bones. No one had ever taken his time with me like that before. Like he was studying me. Memorizing me.

The same way I would do to him, because we both knew this couldn’t last. If we wanted another night like this, it would have to be in memory. Not that I could ever forget this.

It was my turn to watch as he dropped my dress to the floor and traced a path back up my leg, over my hips, before settling on the swell of my breast. Heat bloomed low in my stomach as he swept his thumb over my nipple, teasing me through the lace.

“This is beautiful,” he said, dragging his fingertips over the outline of my bra. A very expensive bra. One I was thrilled was getting the appreciation it deserved. “You look so good in this, I almost don’t want to take it off.” He kissed the edge, right where the lace met my skin.

“Please take it off.”

Before the words were even out of mouth, he unclipped the back and added the bra to our pile of clothes on the floor,bringing his lips back to my skin. He sucked my nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue in a slow pattern that made me arch my back like a contortionist.More.

I reached down between us to trace the outline of him through his underwear, savoring the way he moaned into my collarbone.

“I can’t focus with your hands on me,” he breathed.

“What exactly do you have to focus on?”

“You,” he said. “Getting this right. Making this last.” I nearly gasped at the graze of his teeth. “Making you come.” He switched to my other nipple, and the shock of his mouth made me squirm.

“Oliver,” I whined. I was all for taking our time, but this was excruciating. I wanted to touch him. All of him. And I wanted him to touch me. And I was done waiting. “Touch me.”

“Impatient?”

“We’ve been waiting months, have we not?”

“Ah, so you admit you’ve been feeling what I have?”

“Is now the time for this conversation?” I reached back between us, running my hand over the length of him, watching as he closed his eyes and dropped his head to my chest.

“You’re cruel.” He raised his head and flashed a wicked grin, and I knew we were finally done waiting.

He sat up just enough to hook his fingers in both sides of my panties, pulling them down the length of my legs and flinging them to the side, pile of clothes be damned. And just when I thought we were done taking things slow, he knelt down and pushed my knees to the side, taking an extra second to stare at me. Wide open.

And the longer he looked, the more confident I felt. His green-gray eyes were glassy, lids heavy, pupils blown wide. Lips parted just enough to take deep, shaky breaths. When he dragged hiseyes up my body to meet my own, I saw a reverence there I wasn’t expecting.

“You’re gorgeous, Willow.” A kiss to the inside of my knee. “A kind of gorgeous that makes it hard to believe any of this is even real.” A kiss to my thigh.

I laced my fingers through his hair, murmuring my gratitude and holding my breath for whatever came next. When I could find the words again, I would tell him he was gorgeous, too. His dark curls and his translucent eyes and the sharp angles of his jaw that I was desperate to hold in my hands with him inside me.

But for now, he would have to settle for my incoherent rambling and the moans I couldn’t conceal.

He traced his thumb over my opening, his other hand splayed across my stomach, holding me to the bed. I hoped he could feel how wet I was already. I wanted him to know what he was doing to me.

When he changed his angle, pressed his thumb to my clit and slipped two long fingers inside of me, I dropped my head back and gave up on looking at him. All I could do was close my eyes and give in to the sensation. Let it wash over me in waves.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered, more to himself than to me, as he split me open with two fingers. I raked my nails over his scalp, gasping lightly when I felt the warmth of his mouth in place of his thumb.