Page 89 of Wright Together

My eyes fluttered open. “Really?”

“Yeah. Whatever you need, I want you to have it here.”

My heart constricted. That felt like a huge step. Only this weekend, we’d agreed to date, and now, he basically wanted to give me a drawer. And I wasn’t upset about it. Just surprised that he wanted that level of commitment. He’d been saying it since the beginning, and still, I’d doubted him.

“I’ll do that.”

His smile was magnetic as he drew me against his slick body and pressed our lips together. That wasn’t the only thing pressed into my skin. His cock was long and hard against my stomach. I reached between us and wrapped my hand around the head.

“Fuck,” he growled.

“We’ve barely touched, and you’re already hard for me,” I teased.

He walked me backward until my ass was against the glass of the shower wall. “I was hard as soon as I saw your hot, naked body.” His hands moved to my hips. “I wanted to bury myself inside of you the instant I saw you through the glass.”

“Yes.”

He grinned at the raspy gasp in my voice, the breathy desire. “You want that, too, do you?”

“Oh, yes.”

He lifted one wrist and the other until they were above my head. “Don’t move them.”

My breasts hung heavy from the position. My nipples peaked.

He ran his thumb over my wrist. “What’s this?”

“Crescent moons,” I told him. They were two crescents, side by side—one filled in and one open.

“Why’d you get them?”

I shrugged helplessly. He smirked, and his hands leisurely moved down my arms and to my shoulders.

He traced my peonies. “What does this one mean?”

“My favorite flower,” I told him.

“And this one?”

One hand gripped my thigh, right over my dream catcher.

“I used to have bad dreams, but not anymore.”

“Hmm.” His hand rose to my hip, where a semicircle of cherry blossoms bloomed in soft pink. “And this one?”

“Gram always called me her cherry blossom,” I admitted.

He arched an eyebrow as his fingers traced the line of my Gram’s handwriting on my bicep. “You don’t seem much like a cherry blossom.”

“She said that when she was a girl, she went to a cherry blossom festival, and the flowers were the most striking thing she had ever seen, but they were feisty, temperamental things. A single storm or cold weather would drop them off the trees after a mere day.”

He laughed. “Feisty, temperamental little thing. I can see that.”

“I only bloom under perfect conditions.”

His look was full of mischief when his hand slipped between my thighs. “Think I can make you bloom?”

Was that even a question? All I’d done was open like a cherry blossom in his presence. And the the look on his face said he knew it.