Untamed Hearts

Then Brit reaches up and touches me. She strokes a strand of hair that’s fallen over my eyes, and the spark that crashes through me is electric. Alive.

And then it isn’t a choice anymore, it’s gravity. As natural as the waves still crashing before us on the shore, as perfect as the sliver of silver moon hanging in the midnight skies. I lean into her, my lips searching until they find their rightful home; capturing her glorious mouth in a kiss so sweet, I never want it to end.

Brit sways into me, and then she’s mine. Heat and softness, tender and true. And I know, deep in my bones, I’ll never be the same again.

5. Brit

He kisses like an angel. A sexy, depraved angel, who makes me forget my own name.

God.

I fall into the kiss, needing to taste it all before this dream fades away to nothing. Hunter’s tongue caresses mine, soft and sensual, sending shivers of desire like lightening through my veins.

I’ve never been kissed like this, never felt anything like it. The scent of him, the feel of his hand against my cheek, I’m overwhelmed, drowning in a dizzy pool of pure sensation, but too soon, it’s not enough. I want more.

I want everything.

As if reading my mind, Hunter slides his hand around to the back of my head, tangling his fingers in my hair as the other goes around my waist, pulling me in against the hard warmth of his torso.

I tremble. His muscles are solid beneath the thin fabric of his T-shirt, and I slide my hands up the planes of his back, across his broad shoulders. Hunter makes a low noise against my mouth, and then the kiss is deeper, wilder, his tongue searching and insistent as I melt against him, breathless in his arms. I can’t think, I can barely breathe, all that matters is the feel of his hands on me, and the dark, dangerous pleasure of his mouth on mine.

All the boys I’ve kissed before, all the fumbled, selfish groping, it’s nothing now that Hunter is kissing me. They were just boys, I realize.

Hunter... Hunter is a man.

He finally pulls away, gasping for air. The look in his eyes is wild, burning with desire for me. I feel an answering ache, low between my thighs, a hunger that demands to be satisfied.

“God, Brit,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly. “You’re so beautiful.”

I flush. He’s not the first guy to ever tell me that, but he’s the first one I believe.

In answer, I reach for him again, sliding my hands through his silken hair and pulling his mouth back to mine, where it belongs, to taste him all over again.

This kiss is deeper, darker, a lit fuse burning closer to detonation. I press myself against him, wild with abandon, not caring what he might think, or how it looks, only caring about the heat of our bodies and the feel of his lips, and the fire racing in my veins, driving me closer to the edge.

I’ve never wanted anything like this, never felt such raging passion. It’s consuming me, crashing through my defenses and leaving me shaking and reckless in his arms. Hunter tears his lips from mine, but before I can make a noise of protest, he kisses his way down my neck and along the sensitive hollow of my collarbone, making me moan with the pleasure of his lips. I feel him gasp against me, and then his hand is sliding around to my front, brushing softly against my breast with a delicious pressure that makes me shudder under his touch.

God, yes.

Hunter strokes again, his thumb catching my nipple through my thin dress, and I can’t help but moan again at the sweet friction, hearing my voice as if from far away.

“Jesus,” Hunter swears, lifting his eyes to meet me. His breath is ragged now, his eyes bright and ravenous. “Brit, I...”

I stop him with a kiss, then take his hand and rise to my feet. I’m unsteady, but certain: we’re long past words, there’s nothing left to say. Conversation would only drag me out of this delirious state I’m in, give me time to question and reconsider, and talk myself out of the one thing I know I need more than anything.

Him. All of him.

Now.

I tug his hand, and Hunter comes willingly, following me across the rocky shore to the shadow of the old lighthouse, long since deserted. The handle gives way easily under my grip, and the door opens, hinges groaning with age. It’s dark inside the small, round room, but moonlight falls through the windows, illuminating a dusty floor and some old furniture, and the winding staircase in the corner.

I pause, my desire suddenly making way for embarrassment. What am I doing, bringing him here? I’ve taken shelter in the lighthouse from a dozen summer storms, days when the winds kicked up too quick to make it back to town. I always thought the peeling paint and old wooden furniture was romantic and faded, telling a story of some other time, but now, I send an anxious glance over to Hunter, wondering if he thinks it’s just a run-down old shack.

“This is amazing,” he says instead, crossing immediately to the old wooden chest in the corner, hand-carved and still standing, a good twenty years after it had been abandoned. “How is all of this still here?”

“Nobody comes around.” I shrug, “There are easier places for the kids to hang out.”

“I love it.” Hunter goes to the far window, looking out over the rocky shore and the bay beyond. “It’s like we’re hidden on the edge of the world.”

He turns back to me and our eyes meet across the small room. It’s like a switch has been flipped, flooding my body with desire all over again. Suddenly, I remember what we were doing, before I brought us here inside.

What we were about to do.

My breath catches in my throat as Hunter slowly crosses the distance between us. “Thank you for bringing me here,” he whispers, reaching to brush a lock of hair back from my eyes. “For sharing this with me.”