Perfect Summer (21 page)

His eyes roamed over her face like he was memorizing her features, and then he looked directly into her eyes as he lowered his mouth.

Her pulse kicked into high gear, and she licked her lips. “What are you doing?”

“Continuing what we started earlier.”

“Why?” Summer closed her eyes and leaned in. Was this real? It wasn’t like he’d thrown her down on the entryway floor, ripped her robe off, and ravished her on the tile. Clearly food came first in his mind, or he only liked after-dinner sex.

“Because I love your mouth, and I liked kissing you earlier.” His breath tickled the corner of her mouth as his lips lightly brushed her lower one. “And you’re going to kiss me back.”

“Okay.” Her voice was throaty.

His hands cupped her face, and he held her that way for a few beats, his mouth a hair’s breadth away, sharing her air. The anticipation of his lips on hers made her nipples hard.

“You’re killing me with the nipples.”

“What? It’s cold in here.” Summer was having a hard time remembering that breathing was an autonomic function.

“You’re a terrible liar.” His lips moved to the corner of her mouth and then back to her bottom lip. “You have the naughtiest mouth. I’ve wanted to do this since I first laid eyes on you.”

“Mmmm.” She snaked her arms around his neck and fitted her hips to his. This was her chance to fulfill a high school dream. The chubby girl with frizzy hair who’d endured years of taunting because her clothes were too tight and she’d had trouble learning to read pressed her body against the hunky quarterback and put her heart into it. Summer wasn’t suffering under any sappy delusions. They weren’t going to ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after, but he was here now…and that was enough.

His tongue plunged into her mouth, and his hands slid from her cheeks, down her back, and cupped her bottom.

The bulge in the front of his pants pressed against her lower abdomen. He did want her. That was one giant shot of confidence.

What if he thought she was easy?

What if this was another pity fuck?

What if aliens broke in right now and abducted her? She’d never know what good sex felt like. Opportunity was banging her over the head.

Her arms tightened around Clint’s neck as the molecules in her body high-fived each other and her brain dumped so much serotonin in her bloodstream that she would never need another chocolate fix.

His hands moved from her butt to her waist. As if she weighed nothing, he picked her up and wrapped her legs around his hips, fitting his erection against her center. Two bodies had never molded so well together. Her eyes still closed, she allowed herself to melt into him, and there was nothing but his lemony scent and his hard body against hers.

His tongue explored the inside of her mouth, and she had the vague sense of falling, then the buttery-soft leather of couch cushions caught her. The weight of his body pressed down on hers.

On feather-light kisses, his mouth moved down her chin, traced her jawline, and found the tender spot just below her ear.

“I love your tee shirts.” His breath rasped in her ear. “The best part is the easy access.”

His hand slid up her thigh, under her tee shirt, skimmed over the snap of her jeans, and found her nipple through the lace of her bra.

Her hips arched off the sofa. “Mmmmm.”

“God, I love that sound.” One finger slipped inside her bra and teased.

Summer yanked his shirt out of his waistband and tentatively traced a fingertip along the ridges of his abs. She wanted to see him and run her hands over every square inch of him, except she’d never really done that before. Jack hadn’t liked for her to touch him. So with Clint, should she start with his chest and work her way down or go directly for the belt buckle? He was taking his time, but was she allowed to take hers? Jack, her only other sexual partner until now, had wanted to get it over as fast as possible, but Clint didn’t seem to be in a hurry.

She sucked on her bottom lip, and her eyes fluttered open.

“What’s wrong?” His warm breath heated her neck. “You look like you’re trying to figure out the gross national product of Denmark.”

“I’m…um… I don’t know what I’m allowed to do.” She should be embarrassed, but she wanted to get it right. “I’m not shy, and I can’t pull off coy, but I don’t have a lot of experience at this.”

“You can touch me anywhere above the waist.” His breathing was rapid and shallow. “Right now, I can’t handle anything lower.”

She eyed the large bulge in the front of his jeans. She’d done that. It was impressive…he was impressive. Pride was a beautiful thing. “Wow.”

“Yes, ma’am." He ran a shaky hand through his hair. "I haven't been this close to embarrassing myself since I was fourteen.”

He sucked in a deep breath.

Jack had to watch porn before they did it “to get in the mood” because she was fat, or at least that had always been his justification.

But Summer was the only stimulation Clint needed. Just her. This chunky, giggly body she’d hated forever turned him on. Her inner critic jumped up and down yelling, “He’s lying.” Summer slammed the door on that part of her mind, duct taped the loudmouth that said she wasn’t good enough, and gave self-confidence a chance.

“You want me.” She eyed the front of his pants again. It felt like she’d won the lottery. “Bad.”

“You have no idea.” His voice was low and controlled. “I’ve spent the last ten minutes debating whether to unhook your bra before I take off your shirt or after. I’m divided—part of me wants to lick your nipples through the lace, but the other half wants nothing between you and my tongue.”

Desire throbbed through her body, making her nipples ache to be touched. “You did that on purpose.”

His green eyes glinted with the promise of lots of things he planned to do on purpose. “You made me promise to tell the truth.”

She felt powerful…invincible…wanted.

Without giving herself time to second-guess, she reached behind her, unhooked the clasp, pulled the straps down her shoulders, and slid her hand under her shirt, peeling the cups off her heavy breasts. Her shirt fell back in place.

“Problem solved.” The lights were on, so the shirt stayed on—there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d let him see her naked. Confidence had limits—big, fat, lumpy ones.

Clint’s eyes fastened on the two gumdrop outlines poking the front of her shirt. His Adam’s apple bobbed once…twice…three times. He opened his mouth, mumbled something that sounded like “holy shit, they’re real,” and closed it.

The deepest, darkest parts of her mind analyzed his face for signs of revulsion, but all she detected was longing. Satisfaction curled on her lips. This was a perfect moment in time—no matter what came after. Right now, Summer knew what it felt like to be desired.

Sexuality was new and uncharted territory for her.

She had never been the aggressor. “So I get to play with any real estate north of your belly button?” Since she’d already left her comfort zone in the rearview mirror, why not keep on going?

Clint whipped off his shirt, tossed it on the floor, lay back, and laced his fingers behind his head. “I’m your personal playground. Have at it.”

“You are one fine piece of eye candy.” She licked her lips.

“Do that again.” Clint’s eyes locked on her mouth.

Summer’s tongue darted out and slowly ran around the outside of her mouth.

Clint’s breathing turned erratic, sweat popped out on his brow, and his face turned a tomato red. “Your mouth is a work of art.”

For the first time, she truly felt like one.

Leaning down, she placed a kiss right above his belly button, his smooth, salty skin quivering under her lips.

He moaned and bit his bottom lip. “That’s borderline cruel. You like bending the rules?”

Summer had power over him and herself. “I’m finding that I do.”

What would it be like to tie him up?

Wickedness made her tingle. Later, maybe…if she worked up the courage. Right now, she wanted her mouth on him. She wanted to make him writhe and buck. She wanted to own him.

Keeping her eyes on his, Summer ran her tongue up his abs, ending at his nipple and sucking lightly. “I’ll be right back.”

She rolled off the sofa and sprinted for her bedroom. Months ago, Stan had tucked a box of condoms in her nightstand. At the time, she’d been convinced it was nothing more than wishful thinking, but now, she made a mental note to send him a thank-you note.

Pulling open the nightstand drawer, she found them right on top.

Being on top… What would that be like?

Summer raced back to the living room.

Clint’s eyes were closed. Perfect. She knelt in front of him, opened the box, pulled out a golden square, and ripped the top off. This time, it wasn’t gratitude or the means to an end but the wanton desire to do something naughty.

His eyes popped open. “What are you doing?”

One corner of her mouth curled up. “Breaking the rules.”

“But…that’s…oh…” Clint’s eyes turned the size of hubcaps. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I want our first time to be mutual. You need—”

“Shut up. I’m concentrating. In college, my roommate, Charlie, had a friend, Lucky, who said the trick was to stick your tongue in the end, anchor it with your lips, and let your tongue do the unrolling. I think that’s right.” And Lucky must’ve known—she’d gone on to marry a rock star, and the only people who had more sex than football players were rock stars.

All the color drained from Clint’s face. “Fuck me.”

“Yes,” Summer said around the condom in her mouth. “I am.”

Clint was pretty damn proud of himself. For a man who considered himself a seasoned gold medalist in the sexual Olympics, he could still be amazed. He wanted to puff out his chest and crow like the cock of the walk because he’d managed to keep his wits about him in the face of the most intense sexual experience since turning fourteen and finding Maggie O’Neil naked in his bed.

With one quick turn, the hot water streamed out of the copper faucet and banged into the old claw foot bathtub. Now, it was Summer’s turn.

The fact that today’s performance had lasted exactly sixty-seven seconds did little to diminish his accomplishment. A lesser man would have caved in the prelims.

Tonight had been very enlightening. He’d confirmed three very important theories he’d had about Summer. One, she had a self-confidence problem. Two, she had a curvy body that put Marilyn Monroe to shame. And three, her mouth was just the tip of the iceberg—Summer Ames was naughty. And she didn’t even know it.

After he’d cleaned her up, he’d tried to return the favor, but the removal of any article of her clothing made her tense. From what he’d gathered, she’d had some experience, but not much. It appeared that none of the men had taken care with her. That changed tonight.

He was drawing her a bath first, and then he’d undress her slowly. That fantastic body deserved to be appreciated, and he wanted her to watch him do it. Sex was something he was good at, and this was his gift to her. Summer gave of herself, and it was time she received a little…or a lot.

But in order to enjoy the evening, she needed to relax. A bubble bath, candlelight, maybe some wine? Clint struck a match he’d taken from the small box in front of the candles surrounding her tub. Did she bathe by candlelight often?

Had she lit these candles for Jack?

Clint touched the glowing match head to the wick of the first candle and wished he was lighting her ex’s cheap suit—preferably while he was wearing it.

Summer stepped into the bathroom and glanced at the tub. “You want to take a bath?”

“Not me. You.” He lit three more candles.

“I just took a shower.” She pulled the collar of her shirt to her nose and sniffed. “Do I need a bath?”

He pressed his lips together at the horrified look on her face. “No. This is to relax you. Do you have any wine?”

Her forehead pinched up, and her eyes squinted. “Lots. Are you thirsty?”

“Yes, and you definitely need some.”

“I have a bottle of red breathing on the table. Be right back.”

A minute later, Summer returned with a glass of wine in each hand. “Here.”

Clint took the glass, sipped, and set it on the cabinet next to the sink. The wine tasted like Chateau Petrus, but that couldn’t be the case as it started at a thousand dollars a bottle and went up.

“That’s good.” Clint nodded to the wine. “What is it?”

“Merlot. Chateau…Prius?” She hunched her shoulders. “I know it’s a 2007. If you like it, I have several cases. Feel free to take a couple of bottles.”

What was she doing with
cases
of expensive wine?

Summer sipped and leaned against the counter. “It was left over from my almost wedding.”

“Why don’t you sell it?”

She’d make a pretty penny. Teachers couldn't make that much, so she could probably use the money.

“I tried.” She shook her head. “You’d be surprised by how many people are superstitious about buying I-got-left-at-the-alter wine." She snorted. "Like rejection is catching.”

“Market it as something else.”

“Little hard with
Good Luck Jack and Summer
on the label.”

“I see your point.”

She took another drink. “Fine wine and efficient loading of the dishwasher were Jack’s only contributions to the relationship.” She shook her head. “It’s funny. I don’t miss him, but I sure do miss his pathological need to wash dishes.”

Clint was no slouch at dishwashing. He could wash circles around Jack.

After another long, healthy drink, she smiled. “Life gave me a lemon who made sure the lemonade glasses were all clean.”

“How uncomfortable would it make you if I took off your shirt?”

Summer downed the last of her wine and then stared at him for a good ten seconds. “I just replayed the last few sentences in my mind, and I still can’t figure out how we got from clean dishes to taking off my clothes. Interesting non sequitur.”

“I love it when you speak Latin.” Clint poured his wine into her empty glass.