Page 87 of Chasing Stardust

I don’t care what color crayon he is. I want him. Now.

Without breaking the kiss, Dash walks me backward down the path, toward the Tesla. It wouldn’t be my first time having sex in the cramped back seat of a car, though the expensive upholstery would be an upgrade from the last time—not to mention softer than a sleeping bag on the hard ground. But the lack of space would be too confining. And way too far from where we’re desperately pawing each other under the stars.

Decision made, I dip a hand under his shirt, splaying my fingers across his taut abdomen, exploring every ridge and valley as I steer him toward the tent. He groans into my mouth, and the ache building between my legs becomes almost unbearable. The urge to drag him to the ground again overwhelms me, but I shove it back, squeezing my thighs together to answer the need.

Dash’s large hands palm my ass, and he lifts me off the ground, guiding my legs around his waist and adjusting my position until his length rests in the cradle of my thighs. I shift my hips, and the hardness straining behind his zipper twitches, unfurling another wave of unquenchable need in me and drawing a low curse from Dash. With nothing but a thin strip of cotton separating my wet heat from the bulge in his jeans, I shift again, shamelessly riding him like a teenager on prom night.

As if he can hear every naughty thought skittering through my mind, Dash picks up his pace, slowing only long enough to scoop Mom’s ashes from the underbrush. A different kind of warmth spreads through my chest as he gently leans the urn against the side of the tent, making sure my mom is safe before unwinding my legs from his hips and setting me down.

He gazes down at me, cupping my face in both hands as if he’s afraid to let go. Afraid I might disappear if he blinks. “Zoey, if you’re not sure, we don’t—”

I press a finger to his lips. “Yes. We do. I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

Dash wordlessly takes my hand, slipping his fingers through mine and towing me into the tent. He releases me long enough to zip the flap and switch on the battery-powered lantern before turning his attention back to me. He doesn’t waste time, dragging his T-shirt over his head and tossing it aside, his taut muscles bunching and flexing with the effort.

Then he reaches for the strap at my shoulder, and my pulse quickens.

This is it.

The faint glow of lantern light reflects in his irises as he slides the narrow elastic down my arm before repeating the action on the other side, exposing my breasts to the night air. He presses a kiss to the center of my chest, directly over my heart, then tugs the flimsy undergarment over my head and drops it at his feet.

A shiver runs through me as he rakes his gaze over every inch of my body. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Heat flares in his eyes as he dips his head and brings his mouth to mine again. This time, the kisses are slow, every sweep of his tongue telling me how much he wants me without uttering a single word. His warm hand cups my throat and slides down between my breasts, guiding me down until he has me sprawled out on the sleeping bag and he’s kneeling above me.

“Dash . . .”

I’ve had sex before, more times than I care to remember, yet his gentle touch makes me wish this was my first time. I’ve never felt this revered, this adored.

With his lips still on mine, he resumes his exploration, gliding his fingers over my breasts, pausing to circle each peak before blazing a path down my abdomen to my stomach. Anticipation sends shivers through me as he traces my belly button, teasing a moan from me before hooking his fingers in the elastic waistband of my cotton undies. He drags the thin fabric down my legs and over my feet, tossing them aside before skating a hand from my ankle up my inner thigh to the apex, where his skilled fingers discover the sensitive spot at the center.

Wave after delicious wave of pleasure spikes through me as his featherlight touches turn more deliberate. Every stroke of his fingertips over the swollen bundle of nerves between my legs intensifies the overwhelming need coiling around my insides.

My heart pounds a furious rhythm as I reach for the hardness straining behind his zipper.

“Not yet.” He wraps his free hand around my wrist, stopping me. “Let me make you feel good first.”

His declaration sends me spiraling. Damian would never put me first. I always had to take what I needed from him.

The moment I nod my consent, Dash increases the pressure on my exposed nerves, making my legs quiver as the coil of pleasure building within me tightens into a knot.

Pinpricks of light burst behind my eyes. “I think I’m going to . . .” My breath stills, my entire body going rigid. Then I break free, shattering into a million shimmering pieces in his hands.

“Your turn,” I whisper, reaching for his fly.

A low growl rolls up his throat as I slip the button through the hole and drag down his zipper. Without missing a beat, he kicks off his jeans, pulls the strip of condoms from his pocket, and tears one open with his teeth. Then he rolls it over his hard length and positions his body between my legs.

Like a greedy cat, I arch into him, my pulse racing as he slowly pushes into me. We fit together like missing puzzle pieces, and I match each thrust of his hips with my own, moving beneath him as if we’ve done this a hundred times before. As if my soul has known his forever.

Fire licks through my veins. The heat in my belly flares as I build toward something bigger than just another release. Something I’m not quite ready to put into words. Something that has the potential to be everything I never knew I wanted.

25

Panic in Detroit

“After all that, she just leaves?” I slam the diary shut with a loud sigh and shove it back into the tote tucked between my feet in the front seat of the Tesla. I don’t know why I’m so disappointed. What happened on my mother’s trip has nothing to do with me. But I can’t help but feel cheated. “My mom was a player.”

“What are you talking about?” A deep groove forms between Dash’s eyebrows.