She was enjoying this, however. It made her feel brave and reckless.
Her gaze locked on his lips again, and her blood raced with something new: anticipation. “Will you show me how to be a good kisser?”
“I’m not certain you aren’t one already.”
“I’m really not.”
His mouth was inches away, but she couldn’t quite push herself to kiss it—even though she wanted to. She’d never initiated a kiss before. In the past, the men had just kind of . . . fallen on her.
“Can I tell you where to kiss me?” she whispered.
A smile slowly stretched his lips. “Yes.”
“M-my temple.”
His breath fanned over her ear, sending goose bumps down her neck, before he pressed a kiss to her left temple. “Now where?” The words were spoken softly against her skin, each one a caress.
“My cheek.”
The tip of his nose grazed her skin as he moved lower. He kissed the hollow beneath her cheekbone. “Now?” he asked without lifting his lips.
So close. She could hardly breathe. “The corner of my m-mouth.”
“Are you sure? That’s very close to being a real kiss.”
Impulsive impatience seared through her, and she sank her fingers into his hair, held him in place, and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to his lips. Bolts of sensation zigzagged straight to her chest. After a surprised hesitation, she did it again, and he took the lead, showing her how it was done, drawing the kisses out.
This was kissing. Kissing was glorious.
When his tongue slipped between her lips, she went stock-still. Not glorious anymore. His tongue. Was in. Her mouth. She couldn’t stop herself from pulling away. “Is that absolutely necessary?”
He exhaled sharply, and his brow creased in puzzlement. “You don’t like French kissing?”
“It makes me feel like a shark getting its teeth cleaned by pilot fish.” It was weird and far too personal.
His eyes danced, and though he bit his lip, she could see a grin peeking around the edges of his mouth.
“Are you laughing at me?” Hot shame burned her face. She ducked her head and tried to back up, but the bathroom counter dug into her spine.
The pressure of his fingertips on her chin made her face him again, leading her to believe he wanted eye contact. There were rules for that which she’d had to learn. Three seconds counted slowly in your head. Less and people thought you were hiding something. Longer and you made them uncomfortable. She’d gotten passably goo
d at it. Now, however, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She didn’t want to see what he thought of her. She shut her eyes.
“I was laughing at your analogy. You’re very funny.”
“Oh.” She hazarded a glance at his face and found sincerity there. People said that to her sometimes, and she never understood it. She didn’t know how to be funny. It only ever happened by accident.
“Instead of thinking of sharks at the dentist, think of me caressing your mouth. Concentrate on how it feels. Will you let me show you?”
She nodded once. That was why they were here, after all.
He bent toward her mouth once again, and she fisted her hands against his chest and braced herself. Instead of pushing his tongue between her lips, he kissed her like he had before, more drugging closed-mouth kisses. These she could do. These she liked. They rained upon her mouth in an unhurried procession. Some of her stress drained away, and her fingers uncurled.
Wet heat stroked over her bottom lip. His tongue. She knew it was his tongue, but closed-mouth kisses made her forget. Another stroke, and shivery sensations cascaded outward. More kisses. In between aching presses of his lips, his tongue caressed her, making her skin tingle.
Soon he was seducing her mouth, stroking her bottom lip, the top lip, teasing the crease. Maybe she parted her lips. Maybe she wanted him to go further. But he didn’t. The closed-mouth kisses she’d liked so much in the beginning were no longer enough. She tried to capture his tongue, to take it into herself, but he evaded her. He brushed at her lips with maddening strokes, dipped inside for the merest second, withdrew, and she kneaded his shoulders in frustration.
Over and over again, he gave her a brief taste of salt and heat, and then retreated. Without consciously deciding to do it, she sealed her mouth with his and touched her tongue to his. His taste flooded her senses. Butterflies exploded in her stomach and sped through her veins. Her legs went weak, but his arms tightened around her, keeping her from falling.