by Isabel Morin
“I don’t blame you for thinking what you did. It didn’t look great.”
“It hurts to love you so much.”
“Tell me about it. It killed me to think I was making it easier for you to find some other guy.”
“Except you made it impossible. You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”
I lean in and touch my lips to his, and it’s both unbearably sweet and scorchingly sexy. I push on his chest until he’s lying on his back, then climb on top of him.
“But that’s behind us now. You’re all mine,” I say, running my hands over him.
“I’m all yours.” He pulls my hips down to his, rocking into me with a groan.
I rub against him, letting the friction drive us both even crazier. The Pacific blue of his eyes has darkened to stormy Atlantic, and his lids are heavy. Then we’re kissing again, full, deep, open-mouthed kisses, trying to consume each other. I press myself against him, wanting more of everything—his skin, his scent, his warmth, his hard muscles against my softness.
“You’re killing me,” he says, his breath ragged.
“You’ve created a monster,” I whisper in his ear.
Rolling off him, I pull out the top dresser drawer. Inside is a packet of lube, a roll of breath mints, and a condom.
I grab the condom and get back on the bed.
“Are you sure? We don’t have to—”
“Casey Grant, do I look like I’m not sure?”
His laugh is shaky. “No.”
“What should I do with this?”
“Just put it somewhere I can reach it.”
I set it on the nightstand. “You do want this, don’t you?” I ask. “I don’t mean to rush you.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting for this my whole life.”
“You’ve only known me—”
He silences me with a soul-churning kiss. “My whole life,” he repeats, grabbing the hem of my shirt. “Take this off.”
I pull my shirt and bra off as fast as possible so I can watch Casey do the same. Sitting up, he grabs his hem, his abs tightening with the movement. My insides tighten in response.
“I always thought I’d be nervous,” I say, running my hands down the smooth golden skin of his chest to the ridges of his abs.
“I’m nervous.”
“What? You can’t be.”
A flush deepens his already high color. “I want to make it good for you.”
I always figured he wanted to get in my pants, and that was that. Once again he’s humbled me.
“There’s no other way for it to be with us,” I tell him. “I love everything you do.”
“And you love me.”
“And I love you.”
Without warning, he spins us so that I’m on my back and he’s over me.
“And I love you,” he says, his eyes burning into mine, and then his mouth is on my breast and I’m arcing off the bed. I thread my fingers into his soft hair and give in to the pleasure rocketing through me. Everything’s erotic—the sheets against my skin, his breath feathering over me.
Lifting my hips, I push my hands between us and unsnap my jeans, my lust for him making me frenzied. He sits back on his heels and pulls them down my hips, watching me through heavy-lidded eyes. Hooking my thumbs in my underwear, I push those off, too.
He cups his erection through his jeans, a flush darkening his cheekbones, and I’m filled with a wild surge of pride and power at what I do to him. Then he’s back on top of me and settling between my thighs.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his hands skimming down my belly and over my hips.
“You’re not naked,” I pant. “I want you to be naked.”
“I will be, just not yet. I’m holding on by a thread here.”
“It’s okay. You don’t need to—”
He stops me with a kiss. “Listen to the teacher,” he says slipping down between my legs.
“Casey,” I gasp, but he’s already spreading me open, licking into me soft and slow.
Sounds pour out of me, sighs first, then low moans that grow louder as he winds me tighter. I push up into him, and he gives a dark laugh and holds my hips tighter.
“Please,” I beg him, and he gives me more, applying more pressure, licking deeper.
My hands are in his hair, holding him to me, and I’m gasping for air and reaching for my climax. My thighs tremble like I’ve run for miles. He slips a finger in me, and the pressure of it added to what he’s doing with his mouth pushes me over that sweet edge, and then I’m shuddering and crying out for him.
He holds me through it, and I lay there for a minute with my eyes closed, coming back to earth. The bed moves, and when I open my eyes, he’s kneeling next to me, the condom in his hand.
“Can I put it on?” I ask, reaching for it.
“That’s probably not a good idea.”
“I haven’t even touched you yet,” I say, sulking. “Can’t I just—”
“You can touch me all you want after this. Trust me.”
Kneeling between my legs, he rips open the condom and rolls it down. His eyes are dark again, but then he smiles at me, and it’s so sweet and tender, tears sting my eyes. I smile up at him and wrap my arms around his neck.
I’m crazy wet, but still tight, and there’s a painful stretch as he pushes into me. I gasp and he stops, braced on trembling arms, his chest heaving. I make myself relax and he slips farther in.
He groans but doesn’t move. “You all right, babe?”
I nod. “I’m okay.” And then I smile at him, because it’s finally happening—everything I wanted but was sure I couldn’t have.
His eyes are on mine as he starts to move again, and there’s so much love shining in them, I can’t believe I missed it all this time.
“God, you feel so good,” he groans.
Having him inside me is incredible. Not entirely comfortable yet, but incredible all the same. His body all around me, his beautiful weight, his muscles moving under my hands. But I still need him closer. I curl my fingers into his shoulders and draw my knees up, taking him deeper.
“More, Casey.”
He slides a hand under my ass and tips me into a sweeter angle, then pulls out and thrusts again, slow but deep. I arch my neck and raise my hips to meet him. Never in all my fantasies did I understand what it would be like to have him inside me. I feel him in my skin, my hair, my toes, surging in my blood, in my heart.
His thrusts get faster and less rhythmic. My body opens even more and takes him in fully, a glimmer of how it will be with him. He surges into me one last time and shudders in my arms.
I’m somehow drowsy and wide awake at the same time, sated and needy, safe and cherished and stupefied. My arms stay around him, holding him to me.
He nuzzles my neck. “Are you okay?”
“Better than okay. I’m—” I break off as tears well up and leak out the corners of my eyes.
“Hannah…”
“I’m just happy, and a little overwhelmed.”
He kisses my tears. “I know what you mean.”
He rolls away to ditch the condom in the bathroom, then comes back and takes me in his arms again.
“I know that wasn’t officially a lesson,” I say, “but if you have any pointers, you can tell me now before we do it again. I can handle constructive criti—”
He stops me with a kiss. I think it’s meant as an expedient way to shut me up, but it’s so good I shift closer and kiss him back. I can’t stop touching him—the smooth skin on the inside of his arm, the rougher skin of his jaw.
He pulls the covers up over us, sealing us in. “Does this mean you’ll be seen in public with me?”
“Of course it does. Everything’s different now.” I run my hands up his back, pulling him closer. “I’m goi
ng to try really hard not to climb all over you when other people are around.”
“Don’t try too hard. I know I won’t.”
“We get to spend next semester having crazy college sex, right?”
“Hell, yeah.” He looks like he wants to say something else.
“What?”
“I was kind of hoping we could also have crazy medical school sex.”
“That would be amazing,” I say, hope and happiness clogging my throat. “But I don’t know where I’ll get in.”
“I have a 4.0, so I have a good shot of getting into an architecture program wherever I want. I figure I could find an internship near where you’re going and apply for grad school year after next.”
“You’d do that?”
“That and a lot more, Hannah Bloom.”
“This could really work.”
He rolls back on top of me, and there’s that wicked grin I know so well. “It already is.”
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Acknowledgments
My heartfelt thanks to Abigail Strom, friend and critique partner extraordinaire; to Alexandra Mandzak for her generous and careful reading of everything I write; and to my mother, for being my biggest fan. I am so grateful to the fantastic team at Entangled: Candace Havens, for her insightful and respectful editing and for pushing me in all the right ways; and to Bree Archer, Riki Cleveland, Meredith Johnson, and Jessica Turner. A big thanks to Mia Sage at Indiesage PR.
About the Author
Isabel began reading romances when she was thirteen years old. That’s the year her grandmother came to visit, bringing with her a summer’s worth of romance novels. Isabel was immediately and forever hooked.
She earned her MFA in creative writing and wrote poetry for years, but it was all pretty melancholy (as poetry is wont to be). After she met her husband, she was too happy to write poetry and decided to try her hand at the kinds of stories she’d been gobbling up for years. Now she writes sensual, emotionally intelligent stories about likable people who discover themselves as they navigate their way to great sex and true love. What could be better than experiencing all that new love and lust just by picking up a book?
She watches British mysteries and anything with dancing, and in the summer she hikes, plays disc golf, and putters in her modest garden. She lives in Connecticut with her conveniently tall, dark, and handsome husband.
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