a gentle kiss to her left eye and then her right. Her tears seeped through his parted lips and into his mouth. They tasted salty…warm.
Lazily, with more sensuality than comfort this time, he kissed the warm, salty tears from her cheeks.
He would have stopped there, would have leashed his hunger if she’d shown even a hint of hesitation, a smidgeon of unease. Instead she sighed, her lips curving into a dreamy smile, and pressed her face against his mouth.
The urge to taste those soft, full lips again hit him like a sledgehammer. Urgent. Demanding. Irrefutable. He dropped his mouth to hers.
The kiss started off gentle, with butterfly pressure. She had plenty of time and room to pull away. Except she didn’t. She pressed her lips to his instead, and after a few seconds, she opened her mouth. It was her tongue that came out to play, her tongue that slipped into his mouth and rubbed against his own.
He fought to keep his focus on her, anticipating a recoil or a retreat. Listening for sounds of distress. But instead of withdrawing, she slid her arms around his neck and cuddled even closer. He could feel her heartbeat now. The strong, steady beat of it. His sped up to match it.
She tasted the same…yet…different. Like warmth and softness, but tears instead of sunshine. Like dark, bitter baker's chocolate, rather than creamy milk chocolate. Like someone who’d gone through hell in the past two years but came out stronger for it. More resilient.
Someone who knew what she wanted. And she wanted him.
His hunger reared up, fought its leash, tried to crush her to him. Devour her whole. It had been so fucking long since he’d had her pressed against him. Since he’d had her under him.
He tested her receptiveness cautiously, slowly opening his mouth over hers, giving her plenty of time to bolt if memories reared their ugly heads. But she pressed harder against him, matching him tongue to tongue, lips to lips, hunger to hunger.
Ruthlessly, he locked down the primeval instinct to push her as far and fast as he could, to claim her while he had the chance, while she was warm and soft and receptive.
She showed no sign of reservations. There was no hesitation to her lips, or tongue, or teeth. No tension in the warm body arching up against his. But a part of him remained aware, distant, waiting, ready to withdraw instantly if her body language changed.
He monitored her—her breathing, the soft, rapt sounds she was making, the sensual vibrations running through her lean body—right up until she twisted in his arms, slung a leg over his hips, and clambered onto his lap.
When she settled down again, her knees on either side of his hips, it was right on his cock. Which rose to the occasion. And then rose some more. Not to be outdone, his blue-as-fuck-balls did some rising of their own, tried to attach themselves to the underside of his dick.
And then…fuck…she shimmied—rubbing herself against his cock. Even with two layers of cloth between them, the contact was electrifying.
Holy hell…
He groaned into her mouth, his heart skipping a couple of beats before trying to pound its way out of his chest.
When she jerked her mouth away, he feared that his reaction had driven her away. There was no way, no possible way, she could have missed his erection. But instead of fleeing to the opposite end of the room, she turned her face into the base of his neck and nipped.
His entire body jolted and tightened at the stinging caress. His arms cinched so tight around her waist, he had to be crushing her. Still no hesitation from her. Instead, she silently apologized to the stinging patch of skin with a slow, sensual swipe of her tongue. She followed that caress with a slow, sensual shimmy against his crotch.
Without thinking, his mind a red haze of hunger, he wrapped her in a bear hug, dropped flat to the mattress, and rolled until she was pinned beneath him.
Even then, in the back of his mind, a part of him waited for her retreat, for her hands to shove against his chest. But they tightened around his neck instead, dragging his mouth back to hers. The kiss turned hot, urgent, incendiary.
Until a thundering knock rattled the door and broke them apart.
Chapter Seventeen
With her arms wrapped around her legs, Sarah huddled in the armchair next to the window and prayed her knees—which were pulled up to her chin—hid her