Falling for Summer by Bridget Essex Read Free Book Online Page A

already know exactly what it is that I want.  What I need.
    Summer is standing in the middle of the room, her back to me, her hands in fists by her sides.  The muscles in her shoulders are taut, and I can see that her tan dips beneath the tank top straps.  I can imagine her swimming out to one of the little islands in Lake George, taking off her bikini top and sunning herself on the rocks.  She strikes me as the type of person who wouldn't even blink an eye at that, the type of person who's perfectly comfortable in her own skin.
    I step over the fallen sheet, taking a deep breath.  And then my arms are falling away from my breasts, and my thumbs are hooking into the waistline of my gaucho capris, pulling them and my panties down.  I'm naked now; the soaked garments flop wetly onto the floor, leaving my flesh bare, covered in gooseflesh, and drying in the warmth from the wood stove.
    I take a deep breath, my gaze tracing Summer's outline, her muscles, her curves.  I take another deep breath, and I pause. 
    I've known women for a much shorter time than I've known adult Summer before I've had sex with them.  That's not what's making me consider this. 
    The thing is, I could be shot down terribly right now.  I could be shot down, having read the signals all wrong, and then, even in this torrential downpour, I couldn't stay in the cabin with her.  I'd leave.  I'd leave, and I don't know where I'd go so late at night, but I couldn't stay in this small room with the humiliation, the embarrassment, of being told no, of having gone out on a limb and having been so very, very wrong.  So I take a deep breath, and I consider: Do I want to do this?  Do I want to try and possibly fail?
    And as I inhale, as I see Summer's shoulders rise and fall with her own breath, her head bent forward, her braid flowing sensually over her shoulder to fall in front of her now, I realize...
    Yeah.  I do. 
    I pad across the floor, the bottoms of my feet still wet, leaving wet footprints behind me on the hardwood floorboards. 
    My heart is pounding in my throat as I cross the space between us.
    Summer heard me coming.  She breathes out now, her shoulders going down, her fists opening and her palms pressed against her legs. 
    “What are you doing?” she whispers.  But it's a soft whisper, her words gentle. 
    What are you doing ?  I don't know.  I just know what I want and what I need, and in this storming night, the storm roaring all around us, I'm alive with the possibility of attaining it.
    I bend forward and brush my lips gently over the curve of her shoulder and neck, the sweet, delicious dip of a curve that is shockingly warm against my cold lips when I press a kiss there. 
    Summer shudders beneath that kiss, but she doesn't move, doesn't turn.  Instead, she inclines her head toward me, glancing out of the corner of her eye at me. 
    “Amanda,” she says, the word cracking in her mouth, strained.  “Amanda,” she groans again as I reach out and slowly curve my fingers over the curves of her hips.  “Are you sure?” she asks then, the perfect words, the words I needed to hear, to know...
    Yes.  Yes, I'm sure.
    But I don't tell her that with words.  Instead, I use the language of my body.  I step forward, and I press my breasts, my stomach, my hips, against her back, her rear, wrapping my arms around her tightly, pillowing my cheek against her shoulder.  She is so warm, so very warm.  Even though we were out in the same torrential downpour together, she's still warm, and I'm so very cold, but together, our temperatures almost seem to even out.  I absorb her warmth, and I press another kiss against her muscled shoulder as I trace my fingertips down the curve at her waist, over the swell of her hips and down to her muscled thighs.
    She breathes out, and it ends with a soft groan, which makes the need rush through me even stronger than before.  I brush my fingertips up and under the hem of her tank top, grazing them