Chase Our Forever (Sutten Mountain #3)

30. Liv

30

LIV

I press my fingers to my lips as Dean guides his truck into his long driveway. We haven’t said a word the entire drive back from shopping, but we don’t have to. The silence is comfortable even though the air between us feels thicker than ever after what just happened.

We finally kissed. And it was, tragically, far better than I could’ve ever imagined.

I’m already thinking about doing it again. I’m desperate to feel him claim my lips with his again. I trail my fingertips along my swollen bottom lip. The skin around my mouth feels chafed from his stubble.

I love it.

Dean pulls into the garage and puts the truck in park. It stays quiet between us as we both stare ahead. I don’t know what to say or how to break the silence. I want to know if he has regrets or if his thoughts are trailing into dangerous territory like mine are.

He clears his throat. “We should get inside and get some dry clothes on.”

I nod, wondering if we’re going to address what just happened.

If we are, it isn’t happening yet because Dean opens his door and steps out of the truck. I keep my eyes pinned forward, my fingers still trailing my lips as I wish it was his lips I was feeling right now. My door opens, and Dean steps in front of me. Our eyes finally meet, and it’s like a bolt of lightning through my veins.

I’m never going to be able to look at him again and not think about how perfect his lips felt against mine.

“Let me help you down,” he demands. His voice is gruff and thick. Is he still feeling the same tension I am? God, being alone with him right now, all I want to do is throw my body against his and kiss him all over again.

I want to do more than kiss him.

“Okay,” I respond quietly. I expect him to offer his hand, but instead, he leans into the small opening and grabs me at the small of my waist.

My breath hitches at feeling his touch again. The wet fabric of my clothes clings to my body. I can feel every inch of where he touches me. His fingertips are a warm, welcome feeling through the coldness of my clothes.

Neither one of us moves for a moment. He keeps his hand resting on the narrow of my hips as I get lost in his eyes. We should probably talk about what happened outside the store, but I don’t want to talk about it. Not right now. All I want is a repeat and maybe even to take it further.

Before I can tell him what I want, his grip tightens a little as he lifts me from the passenger seat and places me on the ground.

“We need to get you inside and get you dry clothes before going back out to get Clara.” There’s little room for interpretation in his tone. It isn’t cold. It’s just matter-of-fact.

I nod, still so entranced by kissing him that I’ll do anything he asks me to.

He surprises me by reaching out and taking my hand in his. I like that he confidently takes it without a second thought about whether he should or not. The only sound is that of our footsteps as he leads me into the house.

We make it to the laundry room when I pause. “I should probably get my new clothes from the truck.” My voice comes out just above a whisper. Everything feels so quiet in the house without Clara or Honey here. Even the storm has slowed, the thunder no longer crashing in the distance. The only sounds of the storm come from the raindrops hitting the roof.

Dean’s fingers tighten around mine as he thinks through my comment. I watch in fascination as he swallows slowly. His eyes travel to the laundry baskets with neatly folded clothes inside before focusing on me once again. “You can have something of mine in here. We need to get you out of your wet clothes. Now.”

A shiver runs through my body at the commanding way he says now .

I don’t want to let go, but I run my thumb along the inside of his palm once before dropping his hand. We stand there, staring into each other’s eyes as our sopping wet clothes drip onto the tile floor of the laundry room. I kick off one shoe and then the other before pulling my socks off and discarding them to the side.

My pulse begins to climb as my fingers find the button of my jeans. I can’t look away from his heated brown eyes as I pop the button open and slide the zipper down.

“Liv.” He says my name desperately. I just don’t know what kind of desperation. Is he desperate for me to stop or keep going?

“You can turn around if you want to.” My voice comes out breathier than I intended it to, but I can’t help it. My body feels on fire at the thought of undressing in front of him.

Dean clears his throat, his eyes traveling up and down my body. My body breaks out in goose bumps at the intensity of his gaze. If he could undress me with a single swipe of his eyes from head to toe, I’d be standing in front of him naked.

When his eyes meet mine, I can barely see the whiskey color of his irises. His pupils are dilated with pure want. “I can’t,” he responds, his voice thick with lust.

His answer makes me smile with relief. We already crossed a line we can’t come back from with the kiss. I want to do it again but cross it even further this time. I need his touch—his lips—everywhere. I’m ready to give in to the physical connection between us and take it as far as he’s willing.

The wet denim sticks to my hips and thighs, making it hard to remove. I shimmy a little to lower it. My eyes stay on his as I slowly drag the jeans down my legs. He watches every single one of my moves carefully.

Even as I bend at the hips to get the jeans fully off, I keep my gaze on him. I want to focus on every single one of his reactions.

His body stills as I toss the wet jeans to the side. They make a loud plop as they land somewhere neither one of us looks. We’re too busy staring at each other to care.

I stand back up and allow the heaviness of the moment to sink in between us. He seems to fight it for a few seconds before he breaks eye contact and instead looks at my half-naked body.

“Fuck.” He groans, and it’s the sexiest sound in the universe. I’d picked up some new underwear while at the Chic Peak the other day, and I’ve never been so thankful for a simple pair of black lace panties.

He stares at me as if I’m standing in front of him in lingerie and not a soaking wet shirt and panties. His tongue peeks out to wet his lips, making me fight the urge to close the distance between us and let my tongue caress the same spot his just was.

“Your turn,” I tell him, feeling bolder than I’ve ever felt before. The desperate look in his eyes fuels me. We can worry about how this complicates things later. Right now, it feels like the least complicated thing to do is make out and explore each other’s bodies the way we’re both desperate for.

The smirk he gives me makes heat rush through my body. I have to squeeze my thighs together as my core throbs with need for him. He shrugs one arm out of his jacket, then the other, before it falls to the ground at our feet.

“Done,” he gets out, his voice thick with lust.

I gasp. “That doesn’t count.”

“Your turn,” he responds, not even acknowledging my protest.

I smile, even though it seems a little unfair how many more layers he wears. It doesn’t really matter. I want to shred every single piece of clothing on my body and memorize the heated way he looks at every inch of me.

My breaths get quicker as I grab the bottom of my shirt and begin to pull it up. Fire courses through my veins at the memory of the dressing room. How it felt to have his knuckles brush against my skin as he helped me pull off the sweater. I wish he was helping me rid myself of the shirt right now, but I keep the thought to myself. Having him watch me so intently as I pull the fabric off, his eyes hooded with lust, is just as good as him doing it himself.

It might be even hotter to have him watch me.

He shifts his weight between his feet. It’s quick, but I don’t miss the way he has to palm the tented fabric of his jeans. I lick my lips at the thick outline of his length through the wet denim. The proof that he wants this just as badly as I do almost stops me from teasing him. I’m able to hold on to just enough control to keep my feet planted as I toss aside yet another piece of clothing.

His gaze is hot as it roams my body. He isn’t touching me, but it feels like he is. I swear I can feel every brush of his eyes. My nipples harden under his intense inspection.

It should feel weird for me to stand in nothing but a bra and panties in front of him while he’s fully dressed, but it doesn’t. Nothing can feel weird when he stares at me like a man starved.

“You’re killing me,” Dean announces. His voice comes out strained. Everything about him seems tense. His posture is stiff, and he keeps his jaw clenched. Even his fists stay in balls at his side until he grabs the hem of his wet shirt and pulls it off in one fluid movement. He doesn’t tease me when removing his shirt. One moment, it’s on; the next, it’s discarded somewhere behind him. I don’t bother to look where. I’m too caught up in seeing him without a shirt on for the first time.

It’s the most beautiful sight. He’s made of muscle, something I’d expected with how expertly his tailored clothes fit him. But this is even better than I could’ve ever imagined.

Dean Livingston is a lot of things. He’s kind underneath his tough exterior. He’s the best father. A surprisingly excellent cook. Apparently, an excellent businessman who is even more attractive by the way he doesn’t flaunt the excess of money everyone says he has. He’s charming and witty when you least expect it. And he’s got a body that deserves to be on TV screens.

“Oh my god,” I mutter under my breath. I don’t know where to look. His biceps are thick but not in an overbearing way. He’s got a set of abs that I already want to trace with my fingertips. And there are two perfect muscles on his hips that lead into the waistband of his jeans I desperately want to explore.

“You licking your lips while you stare greedily at the outline of my cock is making me want to do very dirty things to you, sunshine.”

My eyes snap to his as I purposefully lick my bottom lip. “Like what?”

A low growl comes from his throat before he closes the distance between us. “Like this.”