Page 67 of While the Sun Shines

And—and…the thought of just lying down to go to sleep, like it’s any other night. When she’s spent day after day feeling all by herself. Lonely, no matter a shared house and entwined lives.

Not again, he thinks. Not ever.

“Lie back,” he whispers. Too late, he thinks of a smooth move, a hand on the middle of her back, laying her gently down.

But then she’s on her back and drawing him over her, and he pushes against the urge to analyze what he’s doing even as he’s doing it, kissing down her neck, kneeling between her legs, lifting the hem of her shirt to slide over the bare skin of her stomach.

This is fucking happening, he thinks. Smooth skin, her stomach flexing on her breath. It’s goddamn Penny.

“Take this off,” she whispers, plucking at his shirt.

“You’re going to have to live with my farmer’s tan,” he whispers back.

“Tan’s a strong word for a guy who turns bright red the minute you step into the sun.”

Drew butts their foreheads together and she laughs. Drags at the neck of his shirt, and he lifts his arms and tosses it onto the floor.

“Yep,” she says, fingering the line where his arm turns from red to white, the freckles uninterrupted.

God, that feels good, her hands playing over him.

And it’s distracting as all hell. He grabs her wrists, lays her hands against the pillow next to her head. “Stay there.”

She reaches for him again. “Nope.”

“M’serious.”

“Too bad. So am I.”

Though when she slips out of his grasp, Penny just lifts off her T-shirt. Her stomach flexes as she moves, her breasts curve against her bra and oh she’s gorgeous.

Drew slips his finger under the strap of her bra. Once, years ago, she’d been in a bikini and had turned her back to him, holding out a tube of sunscreen. Drew’s hands had shaken when she’d instructed him to lift the strings to spread the cream. Now, he nudges the strap down to hang loose around her upper arm, and he kisses her collarbone, then the top of her breast where it curves above the cup.

She’s amazing. Perfect. Drew reaches behind her back, fumbles once, his face flushing hot, before he gets the clasp to release. He hides his blush by kissing her, her breast in his hand, nipple hardening beneath the swipe of his thumb until her breath hitches.

I want you to be happy, he thinks and moves down her body. Penny lifts her hips so he can tug her jeans down, hooks his fingers into her panties, and she bends her knees to let him skim them off her legs.

Gorgeous. Holy shit she’s—he wants to rub at his eyes, make sure this is real. No, he wants to not spend another second of time not staring down at her, naked against the sheets.

And fucking hell, he gets to touch her, too.

“Okay?” he whispers as he pushes her legs apart.

“Oh fucking God yes,” she says, sinking her fingers into her own hair.

Drew slides his hands down her thighs. Go slow, he tells himself when he just wants to press his face into where she’s wet, part her with his thumbs and lick at her.

But this is about her. About the tremor of her breath as he kisses the inside of her knee, the soft ticklish spot he finds on her ankle. He presses another kiss to her thigh, drags his lips up to her hip, mouths at the soft skin beneath her belly button.

Calm the fuck down, he thinks when he wants to sink his fingers into her quickly and race toward every daydream he’s ever nurtured.

Instead, he cups his hands beneath her ass. Lifts her hips and she squirms in his grip, pressing upward into the kiss he places at the very juncture of her inner thighs. Slow, slow, slow, he thinks. Make it good for her. Make it last. Get her off like she deserves, with all the care he can give.

Drew presses her leg up, over his shoulder and draws his hand up her thigh, dips his finger slowly into her wetness and hears her gasp. When he looks up the length of her body, Penny’s staring at him, eyes wide, lips parted. Gently, he touches his mouth to her. Licks at her once, shallow, light, and then deeper when her head tips up, chin toward the ceiling, a slow writhe in her body in time with his tongue.

She whimpers when he dances his tongue over her clit. Slow, he repeats to himself, pressing gently. Slow, slow, slow, darting away, back again. Gentle and firmer and gentle again.

“Is that good? Yeah, okay?” he asks.