anything like that to me, ever.
He groaned, staring at my mouth. “That drives me crazy.”
I released my lip.
“Kiss me, Katie.”
My gaze fell to his lips. He was mere inches away; my body was fitted between his legs and against him in a way that left little to the imagination.
I hadn’t kissed someone in a long time. I usually found it useless because even if the kiss turned out to be good, it wouldn’t matter. I couldn’t get attached to someone. I didn’t want the pain of saying good-bye.
But I was tempted.
His lips were like a really sinful slice of chocolate cake. You knew if you ate it, you would hate yourself in the morning, but the call of that chocolate was so utterly strong you had to take a bite.
I gazed again at his lips, still inches from mine. He was watching me, watching me debate, watching me try to resist. He didn’t try to sway me; he didn’t try to make the first move. He just held himself there, as still as a statue, and waited.
Tentatively, I leaned forward, keeping my eyes open, and brushed my lips over his. It was a brief kiss but a full one, and when I pulled back a little, part of my bottom lip seemed to take longer to pull away than the rest of me. It was like it wanted to stay, like it finally knew where it belonged.
I whispered his name as my eyes fluttered closed and his arm slid around my waist, pulling me fully against him. His mouth crashed down on mine, his soft, full lips slanting over me in a way that left no room for thought. A buzzing sound filled my head, the only thing I heard as passion built inside me. He nipped at my bottom lip with his teeth and then sucked it into his mouth, gently massaging it with his tongue. Heat swirled in my center, and I became bolder to release my tongue, letting it mingle with his, brushing them against each other over and over again.
My hands slid up his chest and wound around his neck, trying to pull him down farther, wanting him closer to me.
He slid his knee between my legs and lifted, my back sliding up the wall and my feet leaving the ground. The pressure of his hard leg pressed against my core caused a small purr to rip from my throat.
My thighs clenched around him and he shifted, sliding me even closer, so I could feel the evidence of his desire pressed against my middle. Pressure in my lower half began to build. My body began to long for something more, for some kind of release.
He tore his mouth away, leaning his forehead against the wall beside me. I kept my arms looped around his neck as I pulled in deep gulps of air as I tried to ignore the craving of my lower half.
“Damn, Freckles,” he rasped.
Damn, indeed.
Slowly he lowered his leg and me to the ground, and after a few long moments, he stepped back, allowing enough space for me to squeeze by.
Before I could disappear completely into the bathroom, he caught my arm and pulled me back around as he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to my hairline. “If you need anything, just yell.”
He handed me the towel and then left me standing in the hall.
In the bathroom, I closed the door and then sagged against it. In a matter of moments, he managed to make me feel a whole host of emotions—fear, humor, lust. But it wasn’t any of those that caused me to stand here and realize I was in deep.
It was that last kiss.
The one he pressed to my forehead.
Because a guy who only thought about passion, a guy who only thought about satisfying a need, didn’t display that kind of tenderness.
And that kiss was nothing if not tender.
It may have also been my undoing.
9
Beads of sweat gathered on my skin and created a slick sheen of moisture over the surface of my body. The heat was unbearable—intense and thick. Everywhere I turned there was more. There was no escape; there was no relief.
I heard the sound of shattering glass, the angry rush of flames, and I
He groaned, staring at my mouth. “That drives me crazy.”
I released my lip.
“Kiss me, Katie.”
My gaze fell to his lips. He was mere inches away; my body was fitted between his legs and against him in a way that left little to the imagination.
I hadn’t kissed someone in a long time. I usually found it useless because even if the kiss turned out to be good, it wouldn’t matter. I couldn’t get attached to someone. I didn’t want the pain of saying good-bye.
But I was tempted.
His lips were like a really sinful slice of chocolate cake. You knew if you ate it, you would hate yourself in the morning, but the call of that chocolate was so utterly strong you had to take a bite.
I gazed again at his lips, still inches from mine. He was watching me, watching me debate, watching me try to resist. He didn’t try to sway me; he didn’t try to make the first move. He just held himself there, as still as a statue, and waited.
Tentatively, I leaned forward, keeping my eyes open, and brushed my lips over his. It was a brief kiss but a full one, and when I pulled back a little, part of my bottom lip seemed to take longer to pull away than the rest of me. It was like it wanted to stay, like it finally knew where it belonged.
I whispered his name as my eyes fluttered closed and his arm slid around my waist, pulling me fully against him. His mouth crashed down on mine, his soft, full lips slanting over me in a way that left no room for thought. A buzzing sound filled my head, the only thing I heard as passion built inside me. He nipped at my bottom lip with his teeth and then sucked it into his mouth, gently massaging it with his tongue. Heat swirled in my center, and I became bolder to release my tongue, letting it mingle with his, brushing them against each other over and over again.
My hands slid up his chest and wound around his neck, trying to pull him down farther, wanting him closer to me.
He slid his knee between my legs and lifted, my back sliding up the wall and my feet leaving the ground. The pressure of his hard leg pressed against my core caused a small purr to rip from my throat.
My thighs clenched around him and he shifted, sliding me even closer, so I could feel the evidence of his desire pressed against my middle. Pressure in my lower half began to build. My body began to long for something more, for some kind of release.
He tore his mouth away, leaning his forehead against the wall beside me. I kept my arms looped around his neck as I pulled in deep gulps of air as I tried to ignore the craving of my lower half.
“Damn, Freckles,” he rasped.
Damn, indeed.
Slowly he lowered his leg and me to the ground, and after a few long moments, he stepped back, allowing enough space for me to squeeze by.
Before I could disappear completely into the bathroom, he caught my arm and pulled me back around as he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to my hairline. “If you need anything, just yell.”
He handed me the towel and then left me standing in the hall.
In the bathroom, I closed the door and then sagged against it. In a matter of moments, he managed to make me feel a whole host of emotions—fear, humor, lust. But it wasn’t any of those that caused me to stand here and realize I was in deep.
It was that last kiss.
The one he pressed to my forehead.
Because a guy who only thought about passion, a guy who only thought about satisfying a need, didn’t display that kind of tenderness.
And that kiss was nothing if not tender.
It may have also been my undoing.
9
Beads of sweat gathered on my skin and created a slick sheen of moisture over the surface of my body. The heat was unbearable—intense and thick. Everywhere I turned there was more. There was no escape; there was no relief.
I heard the sound of shattering glass, the angry rush of flames, and I
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