Men are so different than women.
Here I am overthinking everything while he lays there having jolly good fun at my expense.
My bottom lip juts out stubbornly; I want a kiss, dammit, and he’s making me work for it!
“You know, I can hear you thinking over there.” His hand gives my rear a playful pat, gliding up my back and over my spine, over my shirt but still causing those ripples of pleasure to course through my lower half.
The daintiest of snorts escape my nose. “Oh you can, hey? What am I thinking about since you’re so darn smart?”
“You’re wondering why we’re just laying here after we both just admitted we want to kiss each other.”
He sounds so pleased with himself, but also, he is one hundred thousand percent correct.
Davis follows it up with an, “Is that true?”
I shrug as a reply and he laughs. “You’re stubborn, aren’t you?”
“I can be.” I find myself easing into the laughter, the tension that is barely there, how easy it is to talk to him. So comfortable as if we’ve known each other for years…
My body relaxes and I snuggle closer, allowing myself to give in, burrowing into his front like a hedgehog seeking warmth. Davis wraps his arms around me, hands sliding up and down my arms. Across my back. Up the back of my neck and into my hair.
That’s more like it…
If you’re not going to kiss me, at least give me a scalp massage.
Between us, I feel the stirring of a hardening erection and smirk into his firm chest, lips curling with a knowing smile as my tits press against him.
I wiggle.
“You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” He chuckles above me, chin resting at the top of my skull.
Does he know nothing about women and how we operate?
“Probably.”
Never have I ever met a guy so contrary to what I thought he would be. He certainly does not come off as the kind of guy who is a bit shy or reserved; one would think that Davis Halbrook was commanding and dominant—seems I’m the one that’s both of those things.
Casually—as casually and cool as I can muster—I move my hand from his arm and let it drag slowly to the center of his chest, skimming along his back muscles. He’s solid as a rock, and warm. Laying still he lets me explore, his breath hitching when I brush over his nipple. We’re not going to fool around or get naked, but I do want his mouth on mine…just to see.
I have to see what it’s like.
Not only because it’s been so many months since I’ve been kissed, but because...well.
It’s him.
While I’m overthinking everything, I feel Davis’s warm, minty breath mingling with mine—a sure sign he’s coming in for the kill. Instinctively my lips part.
My heart races a million beats per second and I thank God above that we’re laying down on the bed because I swear my limbs have gone weak; arms and legs and hands are jelly and completely useless.
I wouldn’t be able to walk if I had to.
Our mouths connect, lips touching softly.
Shocks of electricity.
Magic.
His lips are perfect; full and undemanding. Soft.
Whatever noises were outside—whatever thing or people—fade away until it’s just us here snuggling, kissing and enjoying the moment.
For a while we only press our lips together; there is no tongue or saliva involved.
I kiss the corner of his mouth; he kisses the corner of mine.
Then my chin.
Then the tip of my nose.
I kiss the spot next to his eye after locating it gently with my fingers—it’s my favorite spot, tender and soft.
Our mouths meet again, this time braver, getting along splendidly.
More confident.
Davis is the first one of us to part his mouth, inviting our tongues to co-mingle and I take the opportunity almost bashfully. Timidly exploring, not wanting to stick the whole thing in his mouth.
Gross, I’m not that kind of girl.
Er.
Only sometimes and this is not one of those times.
Davis’s mouth is like a dream, his tongue minty and sweet, both at the same time. Not demanding—but he’s also taking the lead, hand still at the back of my nape, fingers still plunged into my hair.
“You taste good.”
He moans.
I moan.
It’s one of those kinds of kisses.
The kind that curls your toes and makes you want to dry hump like two teenagers sneaking around in your parents’ basement. The kind of kiss that has a man’s hand easing into your sweatshirt and gliding up your stomach and you don’t even care that it’s not flat or that you ate a dozen marshmallows the night before.
The kiss is that good.
His large palm covers my boob, thumb brushing over my nipple.
I have no idea how we are going to sleep after this, but we only discussed kissing and it’s only kissing we will do. I may be horny and hard-up but I have the willpower of a saint.