Every emotion I have conflicts with each other. I want to stop and never stop at the same time. I still feel us moving, and then I hear the door shutting behind us. It takes so much effort, but
I pull back to see him carrying us across the yard.
He tries to go for my lips again, but with fresh air comes some clarity, and I’m able to dodge his attack. But in his soft brown eyes, I see that mischief is back, and his smile is stealing the last ounce of my strength.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we reach his yard.
“Where do you think? You want to cook in my kitchen. And I want to see that... Later.”
Yep. I’m putty. All of the sensible is tossed away as madness sinks in and my lips return to his with an almost desperate need. I’ll worry about the consequences later. Either way, the friendship is fucked. Might as well enjoy the perks.
His talented tongue provokes fantasies I plan to live out, and I kiss him back with every bit of my desire pouring free.
The door pushes against my back as he fumbles with his keys, but he finally gets it unlocked and carries me over the threshold. I still have a death-grip on his waist, and my legs try to cramp from all the exerted force.
“Christ,” he murmurs, breaking the kiss and gasping for air.
“Don’t you dare freak out and run,” I mumble, moving my lips back toward his as he navigates his house the best he can without being able to see around me very well. “I will hurt you if you do.”
He laughs as he meets my lips with a teasing kiss, and then I’m suddenly tossed onto a mattress that angels had to have made themselves.
“I’m not freaking out and running,” he says, slowly climbing over me, nudging my legs apart with his knees and then settling into the space he’s created. “You’re not getting out of here tonight.”
The knot that forms in my throat almost chokes me, and my senses become hyperaware of everything around me. Each breath, touch, taste, smell... It’s all driving me out of my mind as he takes his time, slowly bringing his lips down to my neck and tormenting me with pleasure.
“You’re trying to torture me,” I groan when his hands slide up my waist and just narrowly miss my breasts.
His throaty chuckle does that weird thing to my heart, and my legs tighten around him in response. He leans back and tugs his shirt over his head, and my eyes go straight to the hard lines of his chest and stomach, and I lick my lips while staring at all the ink.
His bluish-black nipple ring has my attention, and I run my fingers over it. He watches me for a moment, his breaths heavy and fast as I toy with the warm metal, but then he drops to me.
His sleeved arm comes to rest beside my head first, and then his half-sleeved arm comes down next. I try not to act as out of breath as I am, but he’s half naked and he’s on top of me. So that makes breathing a very complicated thing.
“Not yet. I’ll have time later to torture you. Right now, we’re both putting each other out of our misery. Because I can’t fucking think anymore. And you’re not any better off or you wouldn’t be skipping work to huddle up on your couch.”
He’s miserable? That shouldn’t make me grin like an idiot, but I’m twisted, so it does.
“And these shorts are too fucking short.”
He starts tugging at my button, and I curse myself. Shit. I should have worn the sexy stuff. As soon as the front is undone, he starts tugging them down, and his taunting grin forms.
“Don’t laugh,” I groan, covering my face. “You’re totally ruining the moment.”
He snickers as he tugs my shorts all the way down, and leaves the cotton monstrosities on me. I’ll never wear comfortable underwear again. Damn.
“Actually, these suit you,” he jokes, leaning down and kissing me right where I want him to, and I almost do something stupid like buck off the bed.
His breath is warm through the fabric, and he grins against me until I hook my thumbs in the sides and shove my panties down to my knees. His breath stops, and I stifle a grin when he seems caught off guard.
He kisses me closer now that there’s no fabric in the way, and he pulls my panties down the rest of the way before tossing them to the floor. He runs his hands up my legs as he parts them farther. Every touch feels like fire against my skin right now, especially when his tongue finds that bundle of nerves that has me crying out like a damn virgin.
My head drops back and my eyes close, but he stops. I think I growl. I know a very warning sound comes out of me, and he chuckles while moving up my body and pushing his lips against mine.
“We’ll have to do foreplay another time,” he murmurs against my lips as he shuffles out of his jeans.
My anger flees as excitement unfurls in my body, and he reaches for his nightstand. When I hear the drawer open and the foil crinkling, I almost get dizzy from the adrenaline rush.
I’ve been divorced for a year, but it’s been so much longer than that since I’ve had sex.