He gently drew his finger down over her bottom lip, her breath hitching as he followed that lush, pillowy curve. Her eyes were all pupil, wide and dazed with desire. His fingertips skimmed the line of her jaw, cupping her face.
“Hugh,” she breathed, as he bent down to her.
“Not yet,” he repeated, and closed his mouth over hers.
Soft, so soft, softer than he could ever have imagine
d. But there was strength there too, in the way she pressed up against him, giving him back as much as he gave her. She opened to him but claimed him in return, her tongue wonderfully bold against his.
Her hands came up to tangle in his hair. The light scratch of her nails made him groan into her mouth, his hips jerking helplessly with every crook of her fingers. He pressed harder against her, near-blind with the need to be closer to her. Closer, deeper, claiming every inch.
Her back hit a wall. He growled in satisfaction, trapping her body against his, her mouth under his own. He was drunk on the sweet taste of her, on the needy little noises she made deep in her throat. He wanted to hear her make more of them. He wanted to make her scream out her pleasure, wanted to hear her say-
“Stop,” she gasped against his mouth.
That single word was a choke chain around his neck, dragging him back from the brink. He broke off the kiss, though every part of him cried out in protest. Chest heaving for breath, he leaned his forehead against hers.
She released his hair, her hands drifting down to rest on his shoulders. He could feel her body trembling with barely restrained desire, as much as his own was. Gradually, their racing hearts slowed.
Ivy sighed. “I hope you have a very, very cold shower.”
“Frigid,” he murmured. “I’m not even sure it can go hot.”
She let out a brief, shaky laugh. “I call first dibs.”
She pushed at his chest. He drew away, but only far enough to look into her face. Gently, he traced her flushed, swollen lips.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
She smiled at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “For stopping?”
Dipping his head, he brushed her mouth with his own. Lightly. Tenderly. Just once.
“No,” he said, releasing her at last. “For starting.”
Chapter 11
After the world’s longest ice-cold shower, some deep breathing, and a lot of yelling at her inner wyvern, Ivy was finally ready to face Hugh again.
And mate him, her wyvern agreed.
Ivy groaned out loud, wishing that she could shake her animal. NO. We’ve been over this five times. He can’t. We’re not going to make it any harder for him.
Don’t need to. Her animal’s eyes gleamed wickedly. He felt hard enough already.
Ivy shook her head, squashing the dirty beast back down to the bottom of her mind. It was a good thing Hugh and she hadn’t attempted telepathic communication, she decided. His unicorn would probably vaporize on the spot if exposed to her wyvern.
She finished buttoning up her epically unsexy flannel pajamas, which she’d settled on as the least enticing items of clothing she owned. Just to be safe, she threw her ratty, shapeless old dressing gown over the top, and pulled on her thickest pair of work gloves.
She examined herself carefully in the mirror. Excellent. She looked like a homeless person inexplicably prepared for a spot of arc welding. Nothing about her even hinted at sex.
Well, apart from her mouth, which still looked thoroughly ravaged. And the heightened color in her cheeks. And her fever-bright, half-stunned eyes, the eyes of someone who had just been kissed near-senseless…
She gave her arm a sharp pinch through her layers of clothing, hauling herself back from that dangerously intoxicating memory. She had to have more self-control. It couldn’t happen again.
One kiss is more than you ever thought you’d have, she reminded herself as she slipped out of the guest room. And he risked everything to give it to you. Remember that.
She headed down the corridor to Hugh’s room. The door was half-open, and she couldn’t hear running water. He must have finished his own shower.