Barefoot in the Rain - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,2
escape from the hell of her home kept on going.
But this summer, with college looming and the clock ticking and hormones raging and—
He kissed her. One soft, sweet, gentle kiss and everything in her body just melted.
“Joss,” he murmured into her mouth. “I have to ask you something.”
She backed away, the seriousness of the question scaring her. “What?”
“I need to know how you feel about me.”
She almost laughed. “How I feel about you?” Didn’t he know? Couldn’t he tell? He was everything to her—her rock, her crutch, her soft place to fall. Her hero, her fantasy, her one and only. “Will, I… I…”
“I love you, Joss.” His eyes welled up with the words, making them twenty times more sweet and perfect.
She cupped his jaw, searching eyes the color and depth of the Gulf of Mexico they’d spent so many hours swimming in over the last seven years. The words were on her lips, as warm and sweet as his kiss. But something stopped her. Something deep inside held on to those words and wouldn’t let them out.
“I love you,” he repeated, having no such problem.
Did he? Did he really love her? Love was so tenuous. Hadn’t she heard those very words spoken to her mother and, ten minutes later, the smack of a palm against flesh?
His hand slipped out of her hair, down the column of her neck, over her breastbone. “Jocelyn, I’m dying here.”
For love or…
He eased her back on the bed, covering her with his body.
Sex.
Was he dying for her to say I love you or…
He nuzzled into her neck, kissing her lightly, each touch of his lips like a little firebrand on her skin that made everything tight and hot and needy. The comforter balled up between them, lumpy but not thick enough to block out the pressure of his body.
He rocked his hips slowly first, then a little faster. Colors flashed behind her eyes at the intensity of the pleasure. Fiery ribbons of need and heat curled between her legs as she met each beat of his hips.
Grabbing the comforter, he yanked it away, throwing it to the side so he could get closer to her. All she could hear was the loud huffs of breath, both of them panting already as they found a rhythm. A rhythm of kissing, touching, rubbing, riding.
“Will…”
“Is it okay, Joss? Tell me it’s okay.” He nearly growled the words into her throat, kissing her as one hand—one shaking, large, masculine, beloved hand—slid over her cotton tank and settled on her breast.
She gasped at the shock of the sensation, making him lift his head. “You all right?”
“Yes. That feels good.” She barely mouthed the words, her eyes damn near rolling back into her head it felt so amazing. His hand was so big he covered her whole breast, palming her until her nipple felt like it would pop.
His other hand went under her top, over her stomach, into her bra, touching, touching, touching.
“Oh my God,” he moaned, pumping harder against her. “I can’t believe how amazing you feel.”
She couldn’t answer, too lost in the newness, the strangeness, the complete wonder of Will’s calloused, strong hand on her skin. His whole body quivered, and she knew he was as overcome as she was.
“Take it off,” he pleaded, struggling with the top. “Take it off.”
He pulled the T-shirt over her head, pushing up the bra without bothering to unsnap it, her breasts so small they popped right out.
He stared at her, searing her skin with the intensity of his focus. “Just like I imagined.”
“You imagined?”
“Jocelyn, seriously? Do you not think I—”
“Don’t.” She put her hand on his mouth. “Don’t tell me. Just… keep going.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, driven by the need that burned low in her belly and deep in her chest.
This was inevitable, really.
All these hours in this room, together. She’d go home and kiss her pillow, touch herself, imagine Will’s fingers and mouth and his…
She slid her hand between them, closing over the hard shaft in his jeans, making him grunt with surprise and pleasure. He kissed her chest again, moving from one breast to the other, fumbling with her shorts.
“I have a condom,” he whispered between ragged breaths. “Want me to get it?”
“In a minute, yeah.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Are you a virgin, Will?”
Still for a second, he finally admitted, “Um, not exactly.”
“I am.”
She heard him swallow hard. “I figured that. I won’t hurt you, Jocelyn. I love you.”