Not even remotely similar.
For one, I haven’t had sex with Lara, or Alex. There are no memories of sensual nights, of skin on skin, of slipping and sliding our way to oblivion. Though I love them to bits, they don’t make me feel like Niall does. Exposed and raw.
“Do you want to eat here or on the sofa?” I ask. It comes out as one garbled word. His lips twitch at my discomfiture, which only heightens when he reaches out and brushes his hand against my face, cupping my cheek. It burns so hot I imagine there’ll be an outline of his fingers etched into my skin even after he pulls away.
But I don’t want him to pull away.
A shiver snakes its way down my spine at the same time my breath gets caught in my throat.
“Don’t look at me like that.” His voice is low. A warning.
“Like what?”
“You know what I’m talking about, Beth.” He moves closer, so my left hip is jammed against the breakfast bar while my right is jammed against him. I have to look up to meet his eyes. When I do I’m lost in them. It’s not wine I want to drown in, it’s Niall.
“You’re the one touching me.” I place my hand over his, feeling the warmth of his skin.
“Then touch me back.”
My fingers touch his jaw, tentatively at first. I feel the sharp scratch of his almost-beard, the softer give of the skin below. His muscles tense as I brush my thumb along his lips. “Like this?”
“Yes.” His voice is strangled. I feel it vibrate against the pad of my thumb a moment before his lips close around it, pulling it inside his soft, warm mouth. My legs buckle from under me. It’s such an intimate move; there’s no mistaking his intention.
“Beth.” He pulls my hand from his face and holds it tightly with his own, leaning in closer still, until his face is a breath away from mine. “You’re married.”
“Yes.”
“And I want to kiss you.”
“Yes.”
He pauses for a moment, his eyes searching my face as though all the answers are there. “Do you want to be kissed?”
I place my palm on the back of his neck, weaving my fingers into his hair. When I press my lips to the corner of his mouth I feel his warm gasp of air on my skin. With a thumping heart I kiss his jaw, his cheek, the soft spot beneath his ear, and his hands circle my waist, his fingers digging in as if he’s trying hard to hold on.
“Kiss me.” His words sound like a plea. I continue my route, dragging my lips down his neck, resting them in his collarbone. “On the lips, Beth, please.”
I can almost taste his desperation as I move back up. It’s as needy as my own. I rock my hips into him and he’s as sensitised as I am. I can feel his hard outline through his jeans. I hesitate before I place my lips back at the corner of his mouth, because it feels as though I’m on a precipice. I could turn and walk away right now and somehow salvage some kind of sense out of this whole situation.
But I don’t. I couldn’t walk away even if I tried. I’m so full of him it hurts. I can feel him, smell the gentle scent of soap wafting from his skin, and hear his harsh breaths as he tries to get some control. He’s taking me over and I want it so badly. “Niall?”
“Yes?”
“Kiss me.”
It takes him less than a second to capture my lips, pulling my head toward him until we are crushed together. I moan softly as his tongue slides against mine, sending heat rushing down my body. He alternates between kissing me hard and gently, soft brushes followed by scraping bites. I follow his lead, threading my fingers through his hair, gasping into his mouth when he grinds against me.
Every thought is subsumed by the aching need he creates in me, the desperation to touch, to taste, to feel. We kiss so hard we barely break for breath, preferring suffocation to separation as we move our lips as one.
His hands push beneath my t-shirt, and the sensation of skin on skin makes my spine tingle. He pushes beneath my bra strap, splaying fingers across my shoulder blades.
“I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw you.” He breaks away long enough to breathe. Then he nuzzles his face into my neck, biting softly at my skin. “Christ you taste as good as I remember.”
Though he doesn’t mean for them to be, his words are like a bucket of ice water being thrown at my face. I pull away, my bra strap pinging against my back as his hands slide from underneath them. Reaching up, I touch my lips. They feel swollen, needy.
“We can’t do this.” I’m still breathless and sensitised. “I can’t do this. I’m married, this is wrong.” I should have thought of that before I pressed my lips against him, I know that. There’s no question that my judgement’s off. “I have to go.”
Niall steps back and runs a hand through his thick black hair, trying to undo the damage my own fingers did moments before. “What about dinner?” He motions at our plates, the food cooling and congealed in an MSG-enhanced pile.