100% That Witch - Celia Kyle Page 0,55

but she swore she read desire in them. Surely that was just a reflection of what she was feeling, right? There was no way…

And then, with the gentleness that was his nature, Nero leaned forward.

Twenty-One

He paused mere centimeters from her lips, his eyes boring into hers, even though they were so close he was little more than a spicy-smelling blur.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked so softly she barely heard.

She wouldn’t have needed to because nothing could have held her back from closing the small distance between them. As their lips met, Tiffany melted into Nero’s embrace, relishing the pressure of his fingers as they wandered down the side of her body. She nestled up to him, placing her hand right above his heart, but there was no steady beat to be found there. Nero was a vampire, after all, a man whose existence was in limbo. She decided she didn’t care.

She parted his lips with her tongue, her heart beating hard enough for the two of them, and it wasn’t long before their kiss became a frenzied one. Before she even knew what she was doing, she pushed Nero down against the cushions and then climbed on top of him.

Once she was straddling him, she threw her arms over his powerful shoulders, her wrists brushing against the wool of his hand-knit sweater. They stopped kissing for a moment and, knowing she wanted so much more of him, she rested her forehead against his. Outside, the storm raged, the wind rattling the windows in their frames.

“Are we really doing this?” she whispered, but not because she was hesitant about it. If anything, she was just struggling to believe that any of it was really happening.

“Only if you’re sure,” Nero said, his large hands resting on her hips. He brought one hand up, ran his thumb over her right cheek, and then looked straight into her eyes. His gaze was hot but kind, and Tiffany felt safer than she ever had. No doubt, whatever she said next, Nero would oblige.

“I’ve never been this sure about anything.”

Slowly, she cupped his face with both hands, her fingers tingling at the roughness of his beard, and then leaned into him again. Lustful desperation took hold of her and, instead of simply going for the kiss, she crushed her mouth against his.

Nero’s fingers tightened, digging into her flesh, and she instinctively pressed her whole body against the length of his. A bulge hardened and strained against the denim of his jeans, and coherent thought scattered to the wind. The man was handsome, smart, gentle, and as if that wasn’t enough, he also seemed to be extremely well-endowed. Not surprising, considering the size of him, but still...

She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d done to deserve a man like him, but she felt thankful for Nero’s presence in her life. Weirdly enough, that also frustrated her. After all, if only she hadn’t behaved like such an idiot before, she would have saved so much time. All those weeks spent chasing down Rhys, trying to convince herself that she was in a relationship that didn’t even exist… Sweet mercy, if only she had realized the man she needed was right there in front of her eyes!

“You have no idea how much I needed this,” Nero whispered against her lips, his hands moving around her waist until they found a resting place on her backside. She responded to that by pressing herself even harder against him, and the hard shape between his legs pressed right back.

“That makes two of us,” she said, struggling to get the words out. Desire was now coursing through her veins like jet fuel, and it was almost impossible to think straight. All she knew was that her body demanded Nero’s, and there’d be no stopping them now.

She moved her hands down to his waist and, after sliding them underneath his sweater, she pulled it over his head. She gave the same treatment to the shirt he was wearing underneath it, and her heart tightened at the sight of his naked chest. His pectorals were strong, like those of a man used to hard work, not working out. The ridges between his abs were like deep, sexy sulks that culminated in a V-cut that led down past the waistband of his jeans. If he wasn’t too young—imagine thinking a three-hundred-year-old man was young for anything—she might have believed him to be Michelangelo’s model for David, only packing more down south.

“Mmm, I like this,” she breathed