The Things We Leave Unfinished Yarros, Rebecca (reading like a writer .TXT) 📖

“After the war,” she whispered, adding it to the ever-growing list of things to be accomplished at a later date she wasn’t sure would ever come.

“But you know there’s always a chance, right?” The muscle in his jaw flexed.

“I do.” Her fingers trailed down his neck. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take if it means I get to touch you.” She followed the line of his collar past his knotted tie and down to the first button of his jacket.

His eyes darkened as he palmed her waist, tugging her closer. “I’ve been waiting my entire life to touch you.”

“There’s one more room to show me,” she murmured. The bedroom. Their bedroom.

Her heart thundered, and her body heated against his. She may have been a virgin, but the stories she’d heard from the girls she’d served with over the last year were enough to more than educate her about what was going to happen tonight.

She felt as though she’d been waiting her entire life for this moment, this night, this man. He was her reward for waiting, for ignoring every other flyer with a proposition and a cocky smile. Perhaps she’d argued that it was her morality that kept her from crossing that line, but staring up at Jameson, she knew she’d simply been waiting for him.

“There is.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “I want you to know that this only goes as far as you want. I may be dying to get my hands on you, but not until you’re comfortable. I don’t want you scared, and the only trembling I want to feel beneath my fingertips will be from your desire, not your fear—”

Fear was the furthest thing from what she felt as she rose on her toes and kissed him, stopping his words with her mouth. They had waited long enough. “I’m not scared. I know you would never hurt me. I want you,” she finished in a whisper, lacing her fingers behind his neck.

He kissed her deeply, stroking and sliding his tongue against hers in a thorough, lazy exploration of her mouth that left her clutching at him for more. He took her mouth like he had all night and no other goal, as if this kiss was the culmination and not the preamble.

Every time she tried to quicken the pace, he slowed the kiss down, holding her tight against him with steady, sure hands.

“Jameson.” She flicked the first of his buttons open.

“Impatient?” He grinned against her mouth, lifting his hand to cradle the back of her head, threading his fingers through her hair.

“Very.” She opened the next button.

“I’m trying to take it slow for you,” he said between sipping kisses that left her arching up for the deeper ones as she tugged at the belt of his dress uniform.

“Stop.” She put her lips to his neck.

He groaned and kissed her hard, locking his arm around her waist and lifting her against him, all pretense of teasing a distant memory. This kiss was openly carnal, blatantly possessive, and everything she’d been craving since she’d faced him in front of the chaplain.

They kissed their way down the short hallway and into their bedroom, where he set her down with a long slide along his body.

“If there’s anything you want to change—” He motioned to the room.

She gave it a glance. Serviceable furniture, light blue curtains that matched the clean bedding spread over a large bed. “It’s perfect.” She barely finished the words before she was kissing him again.

He got the message and stripped off his jacket. It landed somewhere, but she didn’t bother to look. Her hands were already busy with his tie, making swift work of the fabric the way she did daily with her own uniform.

The fingers in her hair gripped lightly, tugging her head back and exposing her neck to his mouth. Heat rushed through her, building hotter with every caress of his lips. By the time he reached the neckline of her dress—just above her collarbone—her breath was no longer steady.

She started to undo his shirt as he found the trail of buttons down her back, never lifting his mouth from hers as he undid them one by one. Then he turned her gently and kissed a path down her spine, caressing every inch of skin he exposed. He reached the base of her spine, then guided her to face him again.

She found him on his knees, his shirt unbuttoned to his waist, looking up at her with eyes glazed with the same desire coursing through her veins. Her nerves almost got the best of her, but she pushed them aside as she slipped one arm from her dress, then the other, holding the fabric just above her breasts for the length of several heartbeats before she found the courage to drop it.

The dress slid off in a flutter of satin, leaving her standing in nothing but the underwear and silk stockings she’d saved two months of pay to acquire. The look on his face made it more than worth the sacrifice.

“You…” His gaze was hot enough to warm her skin as he took her in. “You are so exquisitely beautiful, Scarlett.” He looked stunned, astonished really, and…hungry.

She smiled, and he gripped her hips and tugged her forward, kissing the sensitive skin of her stomach. After a year of wearing issued garments that made her just another identical cog in a large piece of machinery, she felt completely and utterly feminine. She speared her fingers through his hair to hold her steady as his mouth journeyed up her body.

He stood, then shed both his collared shirt and the soft cotton one underneath.

Her mouth watered at the sight of his bare torso, the soft skin that stretched over ropes of hard muscle. His stomach tensed when she traced the lines that ran down either side with her fingertips, memorizing the planes and hollows.

She brought her eyes to meet his questioning gaze—as if this man had anything to worry about. He was just as