Damaged, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 4) by Crystal Cierlak Page B

“Only if you want me to.”
    I swallow and open my mouth to let in more oxygen. I can smell the warmth of his cologne clinging to his skin and it’s like a memory, dark and sensual and exciting. His eyes explore my face, waiting for permission.
    “I want you to.” I touch his cheek with my fingertips and feel my way down along the edge of his jaw, tracing the line to his chin and up into the space beneath his lips. His mouth opens and his bottom lip brings my finger up to rest between his lips. He kisses it, then takes my hand in his and places it on the back of his neck, pulling me into him until I’m flush against his body and I can feel the movement of his chest as he breathes against my own. His hands cup around my face just beneath my jaw and he’s tilting my head back. He kisses me softly, the pressure nothing more than a feather’s touch. I part my lips and take his top lip between them, pulling softly. When we kiss again I feel the caress of his tongue against mine.
    I am all sensation. Cheeks flushed. Skin heated. Lips tingling. He opens his mouth and I’m in him, tasting him fully, remembering the feel of him all over again as our tongues explore each other.
    My hands roam his neck, palms brushing over short bristles of hair at the nape, fingers moving through longer strands of silken hair. My fingers tangle in his hair and gently prod his scalp while my thumbs rub the sensitive skin behind his ears.
    Nick moans into my mouth and I open mine more, wanting to taste as much of him as possible. Five fingers are digging into my waist and I feel him pulling me even closer to him until there is nothing left between us but the very fabric of our clothes. As I breathe in and out I can feel the friction it creates between our bodies, and his arousal is hard against me.
    He pulls my face back from his and I’m disarmed by the depth of desire in his face. His eyes are heavy and his lips pink and wet from my tasting me.
    “This is the point where you either tell me to stop, or I take off your clothes,” he says through heavy breaths. I sober at his words and in one moment of clarity realize he’s giving me an out. I can say no and things will go no further. Or we can go on and do what we’ve always been good at; consume each other wholly.
    “I choose you taking off my clothes.”
    “I was hoping you’d say that,” he says, and his mouth is on mine again, kissing with an increasing urgency like I might disappear from within his arms. I’m not going anywhere, and I hold his head to mine as if to tell him so.
    His fingers brush up beneath my borrowed tee shirt and expertly unhook the fastening of my pants, drawing the zipper down as far as it will go, several inches below my belly button. He’s beneath the thick fabric at the waistline and hands are moving down my backside, grabbing handfuls of satin and skin.
    Nick traces his fingertips down the backs of my legs, bringing my pants down with them. I step out of each leg and he throws the pants away carelessly before moving back to the tops of my thighs.
    “You’ve always had the softest skin.” His breath is hot against my flesh and I moan a little at the sensation. He places a kiss on my satin covered hip, then stands again, fingers toying at the hem of the shirt. He moves under the fabric and up, fingers splayed as they crawl over my ribs and up into the cups of my satin covered breasts.
    “You smell so good in my clothes,” he moans before kissing my neck, and my skin explodes in goosebumps at his touch. He expertly unfastens the hooks of my bra until they spring free, the garment falling loose around my chest. His mouth moves to my throat and lingers, tasting of my skin, then he is at my mouth again. His hands slide down from beneath the shirt and up through the arms, grabbing at the bra straps until they are out and over my arms. I lean back and let the garment fall to the ground at our feet.
    My breasts are tender, and Nick looks down at them