The Stubborn Love Series: Books 1-5 Contemporary Romance Series by Wendy Owens

Author:Wendy Owens [Owens, Wendy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Four Bean Soup Publishing
Published: 2017-05-03T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

It’s a moment I’ve been waiting for. A moment we both have been waiting for. And now it’s here. Dean steps into me, his skin pressing against mine. One of his denim-clad legs slides between my thighs, parting my legs. My arms wrap around him instinctively.

“So Storm isn’t coming back?” he whispers against the skin of my neck, his warm breath causing me to shudder.

“She said she’s staying with Pete.”

“Good,” he moans, and I feel a bulge pressing against me from the other side of his jeans.

He takes my hands, entwining my fingers into his, and kisses my neck, then my jaw, and my chin. I can’t take the anticipation, so I turn my face, forcing our lips to meet. I can feel the smile on his mouth. He pulls back from me, lifting his shirt up and over his head.

I blush and mumble, “Oh shit.” I’d seen him shirtless before, but to be this close to him, touching his firm stomach, gazing at his tatted biceps, I’m not sure I’m actually prepared for the perfection of him.

He laughs. “What?”

I peer into his eyes as the backs of his fingertips trace the bare flesh of my arm. “Nothing, I just ... I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

“Do you want me to stop?” There’s a smirk on his face when he asks me; it’s obvious he already knows my answer.

I ignore his question, instead running my finger along the detail of the ink on his arm. “Why a ship?”

“Why not?”

“Really? There’s no special meaning?”

“It has to do with never being afraid to take a journey, but do you want to sit here and discuss what my tattoos mean, or did you have some other things in mind?”

“Like what?” I tease.

“Well, I know I have a few things going through my mind,” he begins, pulling me close to him, wrapping his strong arms around me, cupping my backside through the fabric of my mini dress and squeezing. I am still self-conscious about how I look in the revealing outfit, even now that I’ve lost weight, but he doesn’t seem to mind how I look.

He’s searching the back of my dress with his hands. “Where in the hell is the zipper on this thing?”

“There’s not one … it goes over my head,” I explain.

He smirks at me. “Well then, let me help you with that.”

Bending down, he grips onto the hem of my dress. My knees feel week. I reach out and steady myself with a hand on the wall of the bus. He takes his time as he lifts the fabric, his fingers sweeping over the flesh of my thighs and stomach as he moves upward. Lifting the dress over my head, he doesn’t take his eyes from me as he allows it to drop to the floor.

I’m standing here—a pair of black lacy boy shorts and a black bra with lace along the cups the only thing between our bodies. My hands grasp my stomach; I’m suddenly self-conscious about the stretch marks, faded scars of motherhood.

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