What If We Believe [on hold]

5. Believe in what you feel inside

AN AIRY GIGGLE parted Ashlyn's lips and her hands slipped beneath Derek's sweater, fingertips kneading his hip. "Oh, really?"

The curve of his grin grew bolder against her nose, and his breath fanned her cheeks. Lashes weighted by the swelling heat of the air she breathed, Ashlyn's head tipped forward, and Derek pulled back, the edges of his smile harboring his delicious intent.

"If I wasn't okay, could I still do this?"

The air in her throat hitched as his palm ghosted her cheek and his thumb traced down her jaw. Those suggestive lips of his followed in its wake, devouring her jaw, down to her throat where he traced her erratic pulse.

His hand moved to cradle her neck, angling her head back to make space for him, at the same time that her hands clenched against his spine and a moan lodged in her throat.

Fueled by her need for him, Derek's mouth moved to her ear, and Ashlyn shuddered against him. His rugged whisper slid down the shell, his words shooting straight to her core.

"Or this?" He teased, nibbling at her earlobe as his other hand slipped beneath the hem of her sweater, drawing her deeper into him. A tremble rippled across her spine, and a whimper parted her lips.

"Derek, we can—" His mouth came down heavy over hers, swallowing her words, and branding his intentions across every inch of her mouth until the only thing on the tip of her tongue was his name and that darn taste of apple. And she wanted more. Needed more.

Chipped nails clawed at his back, chasing each knot and every flex, as she drew him closer. Derek's fingers dug deeper into her spine—his own mark sure to be embedded in her skin—as twin desires fought for control. The fever, the addiction he was infusing in her skin and bone until every inch of her itched for what came next was too much. He was too much.

And when his fingers pinched the base of her neck, and his mouth covered her collarbone like that—

Suddenly, the unsated need boiling beneath every inch of skin surged; her control no more than a pile of ash. Her vision became a flurry of black and red, of ugly sweaters and flames licking his arms and collarbone as she pushed it up and over his head; swollen lips pressing a loving kiss to his heart, which thundered beneath his undershirt.

Derek's hands roamed her waist, holding her close as he peppered her in fevered kisses, each more guilty than the last. Ashlyn leaned into him, smothering her laughter against his shoulder while she squirmed in his arms, wrestling with cotton. His unforgiving assault continued, barely relenting long enough for her to remove the black undershirt that hugged his muscles.

Tossing the shirt over his shoulder, Ashlyn's hands slid down his front, nails grazing—always careful of the mark already inflicted—while her heady breath and sultry moans melted against his chest in response to the attention he paid her body.

"You've no idea just how much I love you." His voice was velvet, gently gliding over every exposed inch.

Ashlyn raised her eyes to meet his. Her smile was weightless, the upturn barely cracking the surface of what she felt, watching him watch her. I have an idea.