West-End Boys (Naïve Mistakes) Read Free

hadn't spoken in years, two kids rubbing their hands through each other's hair, taking a walk in the park. I eased him back onto the couch, feeling deadly sexy in black.
    He lay back. I straddled him, my left knee on the couch, my right foot on the ground, our clothed crotches touching. Conall was hard as steel, pulsing, pushing and pressing against me so that the tension began anew in me, firing within my legs, tightening me down below, squeezing my insides so that I needed him again, now, right now, inside me, filling me, making love to me .
    Finally.
    Because I couldn't wait anymore for him.
    I bent down and kissed his lips, smelled the fresh apple-scent shampoo in his hair. That was Conall: always prepared, always thinking of everything. I grappled with his hair as his own breaths quickened, still needing release, still needing completion. He lifted his pelvis against me and I whimpered. "Tonight," I said to him. "Tonight." I kissed his ear, took off his tie and ripped his shirt so that a button snapped, then another. Then I ripped all of them off. My hair covered my face, wet and matted.
    I ground my crotch against him, heard myself groan again, felt myself engorge and tighten and I ground some more. The itch, the need, was there once more, strong and throbbing. "Tonight, Conall," I said again. Louder. Louder so that the words were no longer a suggestion but a demand, a desperate demand for the man I loved to take me, finally. Because I loved him. I loved him with everything I was. And I knew, as I had known from our first days, that he completely, and unconditionally, also loved me.
    Conall rose, pushing his body up as I continued to ride him. He snapped his palm around my neck and pulled me down as I ground against him, faster and faster, fighting to satiate my own desires as much as his.
    "Tonight," I kept saying, the words now a mantra, a chant, a rhythm and pulse every time I pushed down against him. " Tonight ."
    I knew he knew what I meant. "OK," he said. "Tonight. Now."
    He clutched at my waist, held me down so I wouldn't grind any further. My eyes, which had been shut and tight, shot open. Hot desire flushed on his beautiful face. I was momentarily caught in the dream of his chiseled jaw, his aquatic eyes.
    He smiled.
    He said nothing, lifted me off him gently, kissed me on the forehead, sat me back on the couch. My heart thumped, raced like wild buffalo across a plain. "One moment," he told me.
    He walked out the room, his loafers crunching over the smashed wineglass of earlier. Then he came back, fluffy pink slippers in hand. "These were the only shoes I could find. So you can walk over this damn glass."
    I felt myself go warm, looked coyly away. I took the slippers, slid my erotically covered toes into them. He held out his hand, his chest gleaming and heaving behind the ripped buttons of his shirt.
    I looked once more at my name, LEORA , inked forever on his waist. Tonight , I thought. Because there was no night more perfect than tonight. There never would be a more perfect night. Chalet or not, sexy underwear or not. When two people love each other, it's always perfect. Real love. Hot love.
    We strode past the kitchen. Conall had turned the oven off.
    He eased me onto the lush white comforter on the bedroom, pressed a button so the fireplace would go on. Tonight the music would be made of the wind, our breaths, our gasps, my cries and his groans. The drums would be our skins slapping against each other; the guitar, my cries. The violins, that final release. The crescendo, the moment just before.
    I lay back. Conall stood, undid the last two buttons of his dress shirt that hadn't ripped, took it off. Sweat gleamed off him, mesmerizing me and making me all the more needy. I eased my soaking panties off. My insides were clenched and tight again as if we'd only just begun. He undid his buckle. I shot forward, my mouth dripping, hungry for him. I pushed his pants and boxers down in one movement, slid my open