Page 44 of I Promise You

Dillon exhales. “I would have been livid.” He pauses. “I’ve thought about that night…” He bites his bottom lip. “A lot.”


“We need a new kiss to replace it. I’m going to call in that promise you owe me, Serena.”

My eyes dart to his mouth as nerves fly at me. Just do it, Serena! “Then take it.”

His head lowers and his lips land on mine, hesitant at first, our tongues tangling as he moves his hands to my face, cradling my cheeks. It’s as if I’ve been waiting forever for this moment, his touch, and I sink into the pleasure, the pressure of our mouths increasing. His hand slides up to my hair, and he cups my nape, pulling me closer.

It’s my first kiss in eighteen months, and passion roars. Our mouths fit together instinctively, knowing how to play and tease then delve in deeper. My hands skate up his chest, trailing over the defined muscles, mapping out the hills and valleys. Sparks pop and heat spears me. We part to breathe, and my hands tug on his hair, bringing his mouth back to mine. “Again.”

“Serena…” He presses me against the fridge, his hips against my pelvis. His lips own me, sucking at my bottom lip, then going right back to slanting his mouth over mine. The tent in his shorts aims for my center, and my legs part, inviting him in. His hands find mine, his thumbs teasing over the rapid pulse in my wrists. The gesture is romantic, as if he’s counting the beats of my pulse.

“So good with you…” he whispers as he moves across my cheek and down my neck, his teeth scraping down my throat, his tongue lapping at my skin.

My need grows, and I feel hot, like the small room is a furnace. “Yes…” I murmur as my hand drifts over his gym shorts to caress him, and he groans, his lashes fluttering.


“Touch me.” Please. It’s been so long.

His lips take mine, and this time his hands are everywhere, cupping my breasts and palming me. My nipples push through the material, hard and erect. He eases the straps down, pushing at the shirt, and gazes down at me, a flush on his cheekbones.

His pupils are blown as his mouth latches onto a breast, his tongue darting around the dusky pink areola like I’m a feast. My head bangs against the fridge as he devours me, switching from one breast to the other. My leg hooks around his waist as I meet his cock through his shorts and roll my hips.

“Crazy…” He breathes against my skin. “You’ve got no idea how long…”

His fingers ease under the waistband of my leggings, sliding around to squeeze my ass.

This, this is the point where I should call a halt, but I don’t. I touch him, the strong column of his throat, the top of his broad shoulders, the tattoos on his chest. I want to inhale him, every single masculine piece.

His hands move as he slides aside my thong and puts a finger inside me, and I’m drenched. A primal sound erupts from his throat. His forehead presses against mine. “Too much?” is pulled from him.

“No,” I gasp out. “More.”

“Serena…” Another finger joins the first. He parts the top of my mound, his thumb finding my clit and rotating.

I’m awash in sensation, my breath coming in pants. I’m going to fly apart any moment. Electricity sizzles in my body as tingles build at the base of my spine.

He bites my earlobe, his breathing as erratic as mine. “I want to fuck you, Serena,” he says in a guttural voice and just that one dirty word that sounds as if it came from the depths of his lungs, pushes me over the edge. My nails dig into his shoulders as I ride his hand and go over the edge, my world shattering, a rush of fireworks bursting into sparkling lights as I call out.

I press my face into his chest, shuddering against him, my body undulating. He pulls back, his chest heaving as he sticks his fingers in his mouth and licks them slowly, his eyes heavy on me. I whimper at the open eroticism on his face.

The sound of a door opening pierces the haze of my muddled senses. Dillon stiffens, using his body to cover me as he looks over his shoulder. “Someone’s here.”

“What?” I will my heart to slow, trying to focus. I see a cleaning crew through the window to the yoga room. My hands tremble as I work to pull my clothes together.

“You okay?” I ask, nodding at his shorts.

He grimaces as he adjusts himself. “Yeah.”

I put some distance between us, walking over to the sink and throwing water on my face. I pat my face with a paper towel, and when I turn around, he’s behind me.

Tags: Ilsa Madden-Mills Romance