Stef Ann Holm by Lucy Back (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📗

He set her on her feet and undid the nylon zipper of her dress. He pulled it over her head. The dress landed on the floor.

She moved her face to he could kiss her cheek, the corner of her mouth. He stroked her bare back and she shivered.

A dozen different thoughts went through her head. She didn’t want to talk about anything, but she had to say something.

“Drew…I haven’t been with anyone since Gary, and when he had the affair, I made sure that I was okay.” That was the best way she could phrase it without coming right out and saying she’d had a panel of STD tests run on her.

“I know what you mean, Lucy.” He brushed her hair from her forehead. “I did the same after me and Jacquie.”

She nodded.

“And when Mackenzie was fourteen, I got a vasectomy.”

That news pulled Lucy slightly out of the moment. “You did?”

“I should have done it years before.” He kissed her neck softly, his mouth warm. “So I’m okay…if you’re okay with everything.”

“I am….” She reached out and undid the buttons on his fly, then helped him shrug out of his jeans. He kicked off his shoes. She undid his soft shirt, and the fabric flowed like a teal-blue river onto the floor.

His callused fingers unhooked her bra and peeled her panties down her legs. His roughened hands felt every inch of her, working over her breasts, both nipples between his fingers, then softly down her stomach.

He laid her on the bed, kissed the curves and dips of her skin until she felt as if she had no bones. She melted into the duvet cover as his mouth found the underside of her breasts, the crook of her elbow and the dimple of her navel. She shivered deep inside herself, the sensations almost overwhelming.

She arched her back, waiting for him, wanting him.

Her hands skimmed across his skin, so smooth and cool, like fine marble on a summer’s day. His muscles felt like slabs of steel, and bunched and tightened when he moved. In spite of wanting this to last forever, she moaned, impatient. She’d waited so long to feel like this with someone. With Drew.

She kissed his shoulder, the curve of it where the skin was too delicious for words. Her heartbeat raced as she reached out and wrapped her hand around him. He pulsed, that part of him thick and hard, heavy in her hand.

Then he entered her, finally, filling her as she pushed up to feel him deeper inside her. The tip of him reached a place that rubbed a spot she’d never felt before. Her legs wrapped around his thighs, and the pleasure intensified as he moved back and forth.

Her body danced to the rhythm he set. Back and forth until she felt the release that had been building inside him. She chased it, found one of her own, her hands splaying his back, holding him close.

She wrapped herself around him, letting the sensations linger, pulse and reach the ends of waves until she could begin to think a little more clearly.

She already knew she wanted him. Again. And again.

He moved onto his back and took her with him, still joined. He kissed her fingertips. She kissed his mouth. Softly. Tenderly.

Gazing into his face, she uttered the first thought on her mind, completely ludicrous. “Hello.” Her voice was a mere whisper.

“Hey, sugar.”

She smiled at him, at them still locked together. A myriad of rampant thoughts rained through her mind.

From here, were would they go?

Drew tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, causing her to shiver with longing. “I think we should go out on a date,” he said in a long, audible breath. “Dinner. At a restaurant.”

The absurdity of his timing broadened her smile. All summer, they’d been eyeing each other, interested, touching, kissing—and it had never crossed her mind to go out on a date with him. Sleeping with him—yes.

She knew beyond a lingering shadow of doubt she did want to get to know him much better. All the complexities. They’d done this backward. Physical first. But she wouldn’t have changed anything. Sometimes life worked best unscripted, and this was what had felt natural and right to her.

“I’d like to go to dinner with you, Drew,” she said, running her fingertip over his brow, then caressing his cheek.

“There are things I want to know about you, Lucy. I want to learn who you are. Everything. What your favorite thing to cook for yourself is, what you like to do for you. Where you like to go. I don’t even know if you have any brothers and sisters, or if your parents are living.”

“I’d like to share all that with you,” she said softly, not wanting to move.

He murmured, “But I don’t want to talk about it right now. I want to kiss you. Touch you. Learn your body.”

His arm slipped tighter around her waist and she felt a pull of wild abandon spring to life within her. Something she hadn’t felt in too many years.

Twenty-Seven

Jacquie had been contemplating giving up smoking. What the hell. She’d given up sex—a major accomplishment for her. So how tricky could nicotine be?

Tricky, she mused as she gnawed every last ounce of flavor out of a stick of peppermint gum.

Cigarettes were readily available at the grocery store. But, she also reasoned, so were single men around the dinner hour. And she’d gone right through the checkout without one man in her cart, so there was hope. All she’d gotten at the grocery these days were single-serve frozen dinners and expensive wines. So with the right willpower, she could forgo the cigarettes.

Then again, a cup of coffee or a glass of wine just wouldn’t have the same taste without a cigarette.

A decision like this was too much to contemplate at the moment. There was always a New Year’s resolution. If she made hers on the 30th, maybe it would stick better than last