He just snorts. “You want profound, you probably shouldn’t kiss me like that.”
“Excuse me, but I’m pretty sure you’re the one who kissed me.”
“Best decision I’ve made in a long, long time.” He starts to pull away, but I give up the battle not to touch him as I slide my fingers back into his hair in an effort to keep his face against my own for just a few moments longer.
He looks funny like this, his nose squished and bright green eyes sliding toward the center of his face, becoming one. The fact that I like the way he looks, even now, is more worrisome than my response to the kiss could ever be.
I slide my hands over his shoulders and down his back, then circle them around to his chest, where I clutch at the thin material of his T-shirt. As I do, my nails scratch gently against his pecs and his eyes grow even brighter, to a brilliant neon green that I want nothing more than to fall straight into.
Then his hand is fisting in my hair and he’s kissing me and kissing me and kissing me, until I lose the breath I just got back.
Until my lips burn and my jaw aches.
Until my whole body goes up in flames and all I can think about, all I can want, is him.
I whimper, my lower body rocking against the hardness of his. Kian groans in response, slides his hand down my body to once again grab my hips, my ass. And then he’s moving me against him in a rhythm that makes me hotter, takes me higher, has me growing wetter and wetter with each clench of his fingers against me.
“Kian!” I manage to gasp against his mouth as the heat—the need—builds and builds inside of me.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he growls. “I’ve got you.” Then he’s skimming his mouth across my jaw, down my throat, to the bend where my neck meets my shoulder. He bites down gently, then laves the small hurt with his tongue before doing it again and again and again.
Pressure builds inside me with each lick of his tongue over my skin, with each clench of his fingers against my hips, with each thrust of his hard cock against my aching sex. My breath hitches in my throat, my body moving of its own volition now, and Kian groans a little at my response even as he bends to press his hot mouth against my fabric-covered breast.
With a strangled gasp, I arch my back, press closer. He laughs a little—a dark, sexy, tortured sound—then sucks my nipple into his mouth. I can feel the heat even through the fabric of my bra and shirt and it feels good, so good. I tell him so, my voice shaky—shredded—with need. He responds with a groan and a powerful thrust of his hips against my own. Then he’s biting down gently, gently, gently, and my body’s going off like fireworks on New Year’s Eve.
He works me through it, his mouth drawing on my nipple and his hands lifting and lowering me against his cock as I come and come and come.
When it’s over, I collapse into him, my face buried in his neck, my heart beating hard against his own. Long moments pass as I try to get myself together. He’s still hard and I want to return the favor, want to make him feel as good as he made me feel. But I’m wrecked, shuddering and gasping and so weak that—for long seconds—I can’t do anything but lean against him and tremble.
And he lets me. He doesn’t push for more, doesn’t try to take what I’ve so obviously offered. Instead, he rocks me, with his arms around me and his fingers tracing soothing patterns on my back. He whispers in my ear, presses soft kisses to my cheek. It’s tender and sweet and so exactly what I need after the most explosive orgasm of my life.
When I can finally breathe again, when my hands are no longer shaking and aftershocks are no longer shooting randomly along my nerve endings, I reach for him. I fumble with his belt, run my palm along the long, thick, denim-covered hardness of his cock.
Chapter 15
Kian
God, she’s touching me, her hands brushing against me, and all I can think is if she does it again I’m going to lose my mind. And my ability to function. And I’m going to do it all in full view of her front windows.
Reaching down, I place my hands over hers in an effort to stop her.
“But I want to,” she interrupts as she skims her hands over my shoulders and down my chest. “I want to make you feel good.”
“You do, baby.” I cup my hands around her ass, then stand up, taking her with me. But I lose my train of thought when she squeals and throws her arms around my neck, wrapping her long, beautiful body around mine even as she blows a long, slow stream of air into my ear.
“Fuuuuuck.” The word escapes without my permission, my hands clenching on her hips of their own volition. Part of me is afraid I’m pushing it, pushing her, but shit. How am I supposed to help it when she’s warm and willing and wrapped around me like a vine? Her hands feel so fucking good—she feels so fucking good—that I can barely breathe as she tugs my T-shirt over my head and tosses it behind us. Then her hands are just there, her talented fingers gliding over my pecs, along my rib cage, down my torso.
More curse words catch in my throat and I arch helplessly against her, my dick desperate for any attention she wants to give it.
Savvy laughs then, and this time when our eyes meet, hers are a little less sleepy, a little more focused. It’s what I’ve been waiting for, and when she teases the tips of her fingers across my chest, I let go of the last of my reservations and give myself over to whatever she wants from me.
“Is this okay?” she asks as her fingers circle my too-sensitive nipples again and again and again.
I bow my head, press my forehead to hers.
“Sweetheart, anything you want to do to me is okay.”
Her grin is wicked, her eyes even more so, when she tells me, “You should be careful giving me carte blanche over your body. How do you know I won’t abuse it?”