in a deep breath and brings his gaze back to mine. “It means that maybe your ovaries know what they’re talking about, and you should listen to them for once.”
The breathless feeling I always get around him is back—about ten times worse than usual. A confidence I didn’t know I had has me asking, “Oh, and do what exactly?”
“The same thing I’ve been wanting to do for days now.” He takes one last step and eliminates the small sliver of space I left between our bodies. “The same thing I’ve been thinking about every fucking second of every fucking hour of every fucking day since you moved in across the street from me.”
“Yeah?” I barely get the word past my suddenly dry throat. “What’s that?”
“This.”
His hands come up to cup my face seconds before his lips slam down on mine.
Chapter Forty-Three
Oh my God is Nick a great kisser. It’s like everything that was building up inside—all the want and the need and the gotta-have—got to the point where it couldn’t be locked down any longer, and the relief valve has been well and truly flipped open.
His hands are on my hips, his mouth is on mine, and I can’t get enough. I’ve never been called greedy in my life, but right now—right now I want everything I can get and more. His mouth nips and licks and sucks at mine, devouring me so completely, I feel dizzy.
Suddenly, the world tilts, and I chalk it up to his kisses being just that powerful before I realize he’s scooped an arm under my legs and is carrying me inside. His foot slams the door closed behind us and a molecule of wariness pricks along my skin. Not because of Nick, per se, but because the last time I gave my body to a man, he took my soul instead.
If this is going to continue, and God I hope it does, I need to set some boundaries. I’m not ready for a relationship or anything like that. I just want to have an orgasm that makes me forget my name. That’s reasonable, right?
“This doesn’t change anything,” I say as I touch every part of him that I can while he carries me into the living room.
In a heartbeat, my feet are on the floor again, but I still can’t stop touching him.
He pauses his journey of kissing his way down my neck. “What won’t change?”
I reach out, grab the hem of his shirt, and slide my hands underneath so I can glide them across the hard ridges of his abs. And God, he feels good. “I don’t need a man to help me with anything but orgasms.”
Nick pulls back at that. Takes a few steps away. Then we stand there, both breathing heavily—from my words? From the kiss? From both?—staring at each other in the middle of his living room. The only illumination is the soft light coming in from the foyer.
He crosses his arms over his chest, the move drawing my attention to his biceps straining against the short sleeves of his T-shirt. “You don’t need my help?”
“No.” I don’t, and he needs to learn that, but maybe now isn’t the best time for the lesson. Not when we could go back to kissing.
“So that means you can take your shirt off all on your own?” He punctuates the question with a dare-you smirk that makes my breath catch.
I didn’t think it was possible to want him more, but I do. A man who hears what I need and gives it to me is the sexiest thing in the world to me. All I want in that moment is to feel Nick’s hands on my bare skin, so I grab the hem of my filmy red tank top and slowly pull it over my head, then drop it to the floor.
“Guess you really didn’t need my help,” he says, his gaze sliding over me with an intensity that leaves every part of me burning.
He takes a step back and then, without a word—not a single word—he reaches behind his neck and tugs his T-shirt off over his head.
Holy. Fuck. Just holy. Fuck.
All those dreams about him mowing the lawn without his shirt were woefully inadequate. It isn’t just the abs or the hard wall of his chest or the dusting of dark hair that goes from his belly button and disappears behind the button of his jeans. It’s that I want this man. Badly. It hits me like a crosstown bus, the