Hold Me Close - Talia Hibbert Page 0,100

his lips. She leaned close, so fucking close, and suddenly he could feel her against him, from the lush jut of her breasts to the firm press of her belly. Her lips hovered over her fingers, which hovered over his lips… And oh, Christ, he was so fucking gone. Cock hard as hammer and mind utterly scrambled and willpower crumbled to dust. Why would he ever want to resist her anyway? Why would he ever want to do anything other than sink into all that perfection?

He felt her breath ghost over his lips, whispering through her fingers as she murmured, “What I want to say is yes.”

He gulped down air as if he were in danger of drowning. “But you’re afraid. I know you’re afraid.”

Something in her gaze faltered, which wasn’t what he’d wanted. He just wanted her to be sure. Because he’d watched her—he always watched her—and he knew that she flinched when people came too close or moved too fast. He knew that she was nervous all the time—not a lot, but enough—and that she had this low thrum of constant anxiety keeping her on edge. He knew that she was always waiting, even when she seemed happiest, for the other shoe to drop.

And still, despite all that, she whispered, “I am. But I don’t want to be.”

8

Laura knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she shouldn’t be doing this. And yet, she couldn’t stop. It was so deliciously alien to feel this way, so decadent, so intense, and such a fucking relief.

Yes; it was a relief when he pressed soft kisses to the tips of her fingers until her eyes slid shut. It was a relief when he pushed her hand away so gently, and let his lips glide over hers, light as his breath had been. It was a relief when he combed his fingers into her hair, just to hold her, and grasped her hips, just to touch her. Not dragging her down like an anchor, but helping her stay afloat.

He was so tentative as he tasted her. So careful as his lips, all full and hot and him, caressed hers with a quiet, patient intensity that warmed her from the inside out. And she remembered, all of a sudden—through faded impressions, snatches of teenage awkwardness and the frantic, reckless hearts thudding at the centre of it all—that this was how it used to be. This was the first time all over again, and it was more than just a dream.

But beyond the sweet delicacy that was so right, and so Samir, she felt something else, too. Something she wanted. Something humming just beneath his surface, tightly coiled and ravenous, burning through the tense column of his body, spurring on her growing desperation.

Until, finally, his tongue eased into her mouth with a sureness that lit her up like a sparkler in the dark. And something in Laura snapped.

She opened for him with a moan that revealed every filthy thought she’d ever been quietly ashamed of—only, now that he was kissing her, she couldn’t be ashamed anymore. The knowledge that he wouldn’t stop her, or hate her for wanting like this, let Laura lust recklessly. It let her catch his T-shirt in frantic, grasping fingers, and slide her eager hands over every inch of his skin she could reach.

He stiffened against her for a moment before everything about him went hot and liquid and hard all at once, his arms tightening around her body as if he couldn’t get close enough, as if he couldn’t feel enough of her. He pinned her to him like they were in some black-and-white film, and she understood the appeal of those things now, because this felt good. This felt like pure passion, like pinpricks of light and heat darting through her body until she was nothing but a constellation of pleasure. And all he’d done was kiss her desperately, hold her as if he couldn’t let go, hear the silent pleas of her hungry mouth against his and reply in kind.

He moved, dragging her with him, and she didn’t understand but let it happen anyway. Samir caught her legs, lifted them up either side of his waist, and then she felt cool wood against her knees and realised that they were sprawled over the kitchen table. She was straddling his lap. Good Lord. This was not the sort of thing people did on kitchen tables!

But apparently, it was the sort of thing Samir Bianchi did. And it