What He Really Feels (He Feels Trilogy) (40 page)

“I’d love to introduce you to my family.”

“Is that where we’re going?”

I shook my head.

“Damn. I was hoping to meet them.”

“Sorry, baby. Soon, I think.”

“I want you to meet mine, too.”

“Are you sure? After what happened with your brother?”

“Of course.
When we get back, let’s do it.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” I said.

“W for favorite way to have sex.”

“Way to have sex…” I trailed off as I thought about it. Pretty much every position with Lindsay was fucking incredible. “I can’t pick one. I love all the ways with you.”

She giggled.

“If you had to choose.
Like this is the only position you can ever have sex in for the rest of your life.”

“Let’s discuss the merits of our most common positions, shall we?” I
was loving the direction of this conversation despite the fact that my erection was straining painfully against my zipper, causing a deep ache down low that only Lindsay could alleviate.

She giggled.

“So we have missionary, which is always a favorite,” I began. “The feel of your body beneath mine, warm and soft and slick… well, let’s just say that for such a traditional position, you make it pretty damn spicy with those little kitten moans that come out of your mouth when I’m driving into you.”

She gasped at my description.

“Next there’s the ever popular standing position when you wrap your legs around me. I think that one might be my favorite.”

“Why?”

“Because those gorgeous tits of yours bounce in my face and I fucking love it.”

She turned slowly to look at me, her eyes wide, her breathing increasing. I glanced over at her, taking in her flushed cheeks even in the darkness of the night as we traveled. She was panting. I chuckled, returning my eyes to the road, and I idly thought that the early stages of a
relationship were my absolute favorite. That feeling of never being able to get enough of the person you were with was like nothing else. Constantly pawing at each other, wanting each other, needing each other. And I couldn’t ever imagine a time when I wouldn’t feel that pull to Lindsay.

“I am so fucking hot for you right now,” she murmured.

“What are you going to do about it?” I challenged.

“This,” she said, leaning over toward my side of the car.

Her hand found my harder-than-titanium erection, and she grasped me through my shorts. “Oh, God,” I moaned, leaning my head back and working hard to focus my attention on the dark road in front of me.

She worked my belt and then the button of my shorts slowly, and then I heard the scraping noise as she pulled down my zipper.

She reached into my boxers, and the feel of her soft, cool skin against the hot hardness of my erection nearly made me lose it on the spot. She moaned as she felt how hard I was for her.

“Just talking about sex with you did that to me,” I said. She gazed up at me while I drove.

She used both hands to work me, starting slowly at the base and heating me up with short pumps. And then she unclipped her seatbelt and leaned across the armrest between us. She held me at the root and flicked her tongue over the tip teasingly. I jerked upward in my seat, wanting her hot mouth all over me.

This was not safe.

But I wasn’t about to stop her.

She ran her tongue all the way down my length and then back up, and then she took me in her mouth. I arched up as I felt the back of her throat.

It was the most amazing fucking feeling I had ever experienced.

She slowly moved her head, sucking and licking, sheathing her teeth and treating me to the most fantastic head of my life.

The moment I thought of the term “road head” while she was giving it to me, I lost control. I kept my eyes open and focused on the road as I exploded fiercely to the back of her throat, groaning ferociously. I felt her swallow around me, and she kept me in her mouth until my body stopped shuddering. Fuck, even that was hot, and I was nearly ready to go again.

She
lapped me clean and then tucked me back into my shorts, fixing my belt for me before returning to her side of the car and fastening her seatbelt.

“That,” I breathed, “is going to get you a nice reward later.”

She grinned, wiping the side of her mouth with her finger. “I look forward to it,” she said huskily.

Most.
Perfect. Woman. Ever.

She was quiet while I came down from my orgasmic high. I gulped down my Gatorade, needing the hydration after that performance.

“So what’s your favorite way to have sex, then?” I asked.

“Same as you.
I love when you’re holding me under my butt and my body is cocooned around yours.”

I took her hand in mine. “I love that, too,” I said sincerely. The way we made love to each other wasn’t just about having a hot, steamy session with her gorgeous body bouncing onto mine. When we were standing and she was wrapped around me, I wanted to crawl inside of her. I loved the feeling of her wrapped around me just as much as I loved wrapping myself around her. There was nothing between us or around us; it was just us, our bodies, our mouths, and our love.

I grasped her knee, and then I slid my hand up her thigh slowly. When I met the juncture between her legs, her breath caught on a moan.

“Unbutton your shorts,” I ordered softly.

She complied.

“Zipper,” I murmured, and I heard her lower the zipper.

“Take your shorts off. And your panties.”

A Third Eye Blind song came on my iPod, a sultry song called “I Want You.” It was ironic given how much I wanted the woman sitting next to me.

She slipped her shorts down her legs with her panties in one sweep, her breath hitching when my finger trailed up the inside of her thigh and into her moisture. She pressed back into her seat and threw her head back, moaning loudly as I pushed one finger into her. I thrust my finger in and out, pressing up inside her walls and then slipping my finger out to massage her everywhere. Her moans became louder as she built closer and closer to her release, and I shoved two fingers in, holding them still while my thumb worked the outside. Her legs clamped together as she screamed out in pleasure, shattering around my hand. Her body quivered with satisfaction for several long minutes as she came down from her high. I pulled my hand from her lap and she gazed at me adoringly. I glanced over at her as I put one finger glistening with her essence into my mouth, tasting her on my tongue.

“
Mmm,” I said in pure ecstasy, and she nearly convulsed again in her seat next to me.

“Good Lord, you are so damn hot,” she murmured.

“You’re not too shabby yourself,” I smiled.

We sat in comfortable silence for awhile, both of us lost in the tranquil afterglow of our activities as we listened to the quiet music coming from the speakers.

Lindsay broke the silence with a contented sigh. “You’re up on X.”

“Figures that I’d get all the shitty letters.”

She giggled.

“X-Rays?
Ever had any?”

She nodded. “I broke my ankle in the seventh grade.”

“How?”

“I’d rather not say.”

I glanced over at her. She was gorgeous even in the dark, her face illuminated by the dials on the radio. “Tell me,” I goaded.

“I jumped off some stairs and landed funny. I fractured my ankle on the growth plate.”

I chuckled. “I broke my arm in ninth grade.”

“Doing what?”

“I was trying to prove to Julianne that boys can do cartwheels.”

Lindsay broke up with laughter, causing me to laugh right along with her.

“Did you prove it?”

“She won that particular bet.”

My statement caused even more laughter until tears were streaming down her face. It wasn’t as funny to me as I remembered the pain of landing on my arm mid-cartwheel, but it was still pretty amusing looking back on it.

“
Y?” I asked once her laughter slowed.

“Why what?”

“No, the letter Y.”

This sent her into another fit of giggles, and I smiled adoringly at her. “Yogurt flavor?” she finally asked once she caught her breath.

“Lame question.”

“Answer it,” she giggled.

“Peach.”

“Blueberry.”

“We’re finally to Z,” I said.

“I liked your Z last time,” she spoke quietly.

I took her hand in mine. “It’s still true, baby. This thing between us is just beginning.”

“What is this thing between us?” Part of this weekend was me trying to establish that between us, and her asking me that question completely threw me off guard. I had it planned out, but now I had to go with it.

“Like a label?”

“Sure.”

“I suppose I think of you as my girlfriend.”

“Good.”

“Do you?” I asked, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically insecure.

“I’ve thought of you as my boyfriend since that first night together.”

“Even when you were with him?”
I asked, referring to Spencer.

“I felt more for you after that one night than I did in the six months I was with Spencer,” she replied, her voice full of legitimacy.

“Good,” I echoed her sentiment. “So it’s official, then.”

“I guess it is,” she smiled.
“Z, baby. Lay it on me.”

“You can be any zoo animal. What would you be?”

“You go first.”

“Tiger,” I answered immediately, just as she said, “You can’t say ‘Tiger.’”

I chuckled. “Panther.”

“Why?”

“Still ferocious and wild, but also sleek and fast. You?”

“Queen of the jungle.”

“Lion?”

She nodded.
“Hell yeah. Everyone would bow to me.”

“I do that anyway.”

“Oh, you do not. You’re always in control.”

“Not true, woman. You bring me to my knees.”

“I like when you’re on your knees,” she said.

“Oh, I like when you’re on your knees, too,” I grinned.

She smacked me on my arm playfully, and I was overwhelmed once again with emotion for her. She had somehow become everything to me in the short time I had known her. She was as necessary as breathing, and even the thought of my life without her killed me.

CHAPTER 20

A little over five hours after we had left Lindsay’s place, the lights of the Strip came into view and we were nearly at our destination. Lindsay had figured it out about an hour into our trip, but I hadn’t confirmed or denied where we were headed.

I pulled in
to valet parking at the Paris Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada, and Lindsay squealed with delight.

I put the car in park and turned to Lindsay. “You don’t have a passport, and I wanted to take you to Paris… so here we are.”

She giggled, an adorable sound bubbling up from her excitement. “This is perfect, Travis. I love it!”

I grinned. “Let’s go check in.”

The valet attendant grabbed our bags out of the trunk and handed me a valet ticket. I took the bags from him, too, and then we headed to the check-in desk. The Paris Hotel was a replica of Paris, France, and it was a pretty epic hotel. I booked us a suite, and I carried our bags as Lindsay walked next to me, clasping my hand in hers as she took in the sights around her. 

We walked into the posh lobby, taking in the crystal chandeliers and French décor. I headed toward check-in, and we walked right up to the desk without having to wait.

“Your ID and a credit card, sir,” the woman behind the desk requested in a French accent. Even their workers were authentic. I handed them over and glanced at her nametag: Marguerite.

“The Calais Suite?” she asked, and I nodded. “Are you on your honeymoon?” she asked.

Lindsay and I looked at each other and her cheeks flushed.

“No. Someday, maybe,” I grinned, holding Lindsay’s gaze.

“You look very much in love,” she said back to us in her thickly accented voice.

We are
, I wanted to say. But I didn’t. I needed to say it to her before I admitted it to someone else, no matter how true it was.

She handed me back my credit card and license and showed us a map that would lead us to our suite on the twenty-seventh floor.

We found the bank of elevators to take us to our room. We stepped on, and we were the only two on the elevator. The moment the doors snapped shut, Lindsay was all over me. Her mouth slid over mine hotly.