Mike said everyone was looking for us this morning, and Shawn and I are acting like no one matters.
“Adam’s always late,” he counters, his lips trailing lower, lower. He hooks a finger into the collar of my shirt and tugs it down to taste even more of me, heat pooling low in my belly—lower, lower.
“Shawn,” I protest, but it sounds like a prayer even to my own ears, and when he drops to his knees in front of me, my fingers bury in his hair.
“Five minutes,” he says, already pushing my shirt up to play his lips along my stomach.
He makes short work of my button, and then my jeans are being tugged down. Quick fingers tug at my bootlaces, and then I’m stepping out of those, out of jeans. My panties get tugged down too, but Shawn doesn’t even wait for me to step out of them before his lips press forward.
Heat—molten-hot heat—closes over where I’m already wet for him, and my head falls back in a moan that makes my knees quake. His strong hands hold my hips in place, pinning them against the wall and holding me up as the aged brick bites against my ass. My eyes are rolled back between closed eyelids, my fingers gripping Shawn’s hair as he devours me with the firm tip of his tongue and then presses forward even farther. Wetness rushes between my legs just as his hand slides up my stomach, over the swell of my bra, teasing at an impatient nipple that strains against the black lace. My entire body is alive, nerve endings dancing as Shawn tunes them like a neglected instrument, and when I open my eyes and gaze down at him, his green eyes are staring up at me under thick black lashes. He lifts a hand between my legs, finds the wet trail his tongue has paved, and buries two fingers deep, deep inside of me.
And God, the moan that pushes out of me as my knees begin to quiver, it only makes me hotter, makes his eyes darker, makes me so, so close.
“Shawn.” My voice is raw, needy, desperate. My hands are out of his hair, gripping the sides of the building because I feel like I’m about to pass out. I’ve been with other guys, but never—never—have I felt like this. I’m about to come apart. A white spark is climbing inside me, threatening to explode into a shower of fireworks.
“Come for me, baby,” Shawn says, his low, husky voice bringing another rush of warmth between my legs as his fingers make the world fall away. “We’re not leaving here until you do.”
And God, I believe him. The way he moves his talented fingers inside me, he’d be here all day, all night, forever if he—
“Oh my God,” I say as my seams burst apart, every single thread at once. My knees nearly buckle, and Shawn’s strong hands latch on to my waist, pinning me against the wall. He devours me with his tongue until I’m melting all around it, and then he catches every last bit of me, greedy as he continues licking for more and more and more and—“Oh my fucking God,” I moan as a second wave of pleasure rushes over me, taking control of my body until I’m not even sure I’m inside it anymore. “Shawn . . . oh . . . oh, God . . . ”
My moans become intelligible as the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had overtakes me, and Shawn stands in a rush, claiming my lips in a way that makes me want to reach down low.
I want to find his button and tear it from his jeans. I want to feel him inside me—deep, where I’m still pulsing for him. But he kisses me ravenously, stealing words from my mouth and thoughts from my mind. I’m his—utterly his, following him blindly as the kiss deepens, slows, calms. When his lips part from mine, I’m still breathless, my eyes half-lidded as I stare back at him.
In a daze, I want to tell him I love him. I want to say the words, sleepily with my eyes half-open. I want to repeat them and repeat them until he kisses me again.
Instead, I rest my forehead against his, and he smiles.
“Thank you,” he says, and an exhausted laugh escapes me as my eyes drift closed.
“Yeah, Shawn. You’re welcome.”
He kisses me softly, so softly, and then he brushes my hair from my eyes and presses his hand against my cheek. “Open your eyes.”
“Why?” I ask, already parting my lashes to the captivated way he’s looking at me.
“The way they look right now . . . ” His thumb strokes my skin. “I’ve wondered what they’d look like right now.”
My cheeks burn pink, but he’s too busy studying my eyes to notice. A soft smile blooms across his face, stoking the hibernating nest of butterflies in my stomach until they’re flapping nervously against my heart. I’m not used to this—to wanting to tell him I love him so badly, to having him make me feel like I could.
“We’re late,” I remind him once more as I reach down to lift my panties back up. My knees are still trembling as I step into my jeans and my untied boots.
“I had five minutes,” Shawn teases as I reach down to tie my laces. “I’m pretty sure I still have two left.”
I angle my chin to glare up at him, but I’m smiling, and so is he.
WITH MY HAND in Shawn’s, I float my way to the bus, my entire body buzzing with Shawn’s personally gifted brand of satisfied exhaustion. Every time my thoughts drift back to the roof of that hotel, tingles trickle across my skin and I have to resist the urge to tug him into an alley, an empty parking lot, a bathroom stall in the nearest fast-food joint. I keep stealing glances at him, he keeps catching them, and I curse every giggle that frees itself from my lips, because I’m helpless to stop them.