‘You’re so beautiful.’ I may have spoken the words aloud or inside my head. I wasn’t sure which.
My lips closed over hers, more carefully than I’d ever kissed anyone. I was terrified to startle her. Afraid she would retreat and never trust me with this chance again. Afraid she would equate me with that ass**le who hurt her – who would have hurt her so much more.
I shoved him from my mind as though I’d pushed him from a cliff. He was not a part of this. I wouldn’t let him in.
I touched my tongue along the seam of her lips – a quiet enquiry and a promise to withdraw if required. But she opened her mouth, and my blood ignited, rolling below my tattoos like tiny ribbons of fire. Her tongue touched mine – a connection I hadn’t imagined would be allowed, and one that incited an ache for more. I swept my tongue across hers and she sighed and trembled beneath me.
I placed one hand over her wrists and one at her waist, as if I could ground her to this moment. Exploring her was suddenly all I was meant to do in this life. When I sucked on her plump lower lip, so unbearably sweet, her breath caught. My tongue drove into her mouth, harder, seeking more of her, and her hands turned to fists beneath my hand. I released her instantly, fearing I’d frightened her with the intensity of what I felt, praying I hadn’t – but her eyes opened, and I read nothing there but wonder.
I placed her hands round my neck and sat up, pulling her into my lap as her hands wound into my hair and God almighty she could have asked anything of me in that moment and I’d have granted it.
Her head fitted into my hand as I inclined her back, tipping her chin to kiss that freckle I’d noticed while sketching. My lips moved lower, so slowly, my entire body on alert for any sign of too far from her. Her chest rose and fell, the soft pant of each breath echoing into the room and blending with mine above the music from her laptop that had faded to the background. I knew the songs but couldn’t have said or cared what they were as my free hand wandered beneath her sweater.
I skimmed greedy fingertips over her ribs and up over the silky fabric of her bra, pushing her sweater higher. Her accelerating breaths feathered over my face and fanned my hair as I ran my tongue along the curve of her bare skin, just above the cup.
The tiny clasp was in the front. One press between my thumb and index finger followed by a half-inch slide would open it, but my brain won out. This would be too far. My conscience whispered from the other side of the door that I was kidding myself with this mental pretence of gallantry. This entire night was too far, and I damned well knew it.
I should leave, I thought.
And then she laughed. Not even a laugh, really – more like a strangled giggle, ricocheting through the room at the strangest possible moment.
‘Ticklish?’ I asked, because I couldn’t imagine another reason for her to laugh at such a point. She bit down on her lip, much too hard. I wanted to object that she was injuring a part of herself I was prepared to spend the next hour adoring. I’d dreamed about her lips, her mouth, her tongue – I didn’t want her putting any of them out of play. She shook her head, no, and I stared at her lush mouth and asked, ‘You sure? Because it’s either that … or you find my seduction techniques … humorous.’
She laughed again, belatedly covering her mouth.
I wasn’t about to let her get away with hiding those lips from me. Aloud, I mulled over the idea of tickling her, just to dismiss her hysteria, and her eyes widened.
‘Please don’t,’ she begged, as if I would. Any fingers I stroked over her body would be an entirely different sort of touch, and I’d be damned if she’d laugh again, as adorable and weird as it was.
Drawing her hand away from her lips, I placed it over my heart and captured her mouth with mine – giving her no time to become anxious, giving myself no time to deliberate. She moaned softly, driving me out of my mind.
I pulled her sweater back down, but I didn’t need to see her to feel her, and my imagination filled in every visual void. Caressing the soft skin of her abdomen, moving north, lazily – two inches up and one back, my hand finally cupped one breast, full and perfect. She gasped when my thumb grazed over her nipple and I felt it harden instantly through the thin fabric of her bra. I pinched it gently, revelling in her responsiveness, before paying equal attention to her other breast.
I could draw her from touch alone, without ever seeing her naked body. She’d have areolas the size of quarters, I’d guess – rosy pink ni**les straining towards my mouth if I arched her further over my arm and licked each of them, once, blowing gently across the surface of her skin.
God. Damn.
As if she read my mind, she moaned again, opening wider, and my tongue delved deep, probing every inch of her hot little mouth, stroking her tongue rhythmically. Growling my pleasure when she sucked on mine, I tightened my arm round her, exerting every ounce of willpower I had to keep from pulling her astride my lap, tugging her sweater over her head, sliding her bra off, and sucking her into my mouth while she moulded her heated core against my rock-hard, all-too-willing erection. What exquisite torture that would be.
She hummed in my arms, giving herself over to kissing me, having no thought, I’m sure, that I was imagining so much more than these heated kisses, as powerful as they were. I stroked her throat with my fingers, like putting my hand to a train track and feeling the rumble of a train I couldn’t see yet, coming fast. Abandoning her lips momentarily, I sucked soft little kisses along the front of her neck – not forceful enough to leave marks, but hard enough to leave her dizzy. Hard enough to give her a sample of what I could make her feel.