Hummingbird Lake Page 0,49

into a warm, rolling river of pleasure.

He buried his fingers into her hair as he moved his lips over hers. His tongue explored her, stroked her, stoked her passion. He tasted of cinnamon and smelled like sin and felt like heaven pressed against her.

Sage sighed into his mouth. He growled in response. His hand began to move, skimming up and down her back. He slipped his hand beneath her shirt and caressed the sensitive skin at the small of her back with the callused pad of his thumb until she shuddered.

It had been so long since she’d indulged in any intimacy with a man—even intimacy as relatively innocent as this. When his mouth released hers and his lips trailed across her face, she tilted her head, offering her neck.

He nipped her there, and again she shuddered, sensation washing over her in waves like a sun-warmed surf caressing the sand. Pleasure. Yearning. Arousal. Delight. His hand slid down and cupped her butt, his fingers kneading her softly. When she realized she no longer felt his lips on her skin, she opened her eyes to see him watching her, an enigmatic look on his face. “What?” she asked.

“I’m trying to decide.”

“Decide what?” When he failed to either reply or look away, she added, “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

His lips twitched. “I’m not going to ask you to.”

Okay, that was insulting. But when she pursed her mouth, preparing to fire a comeback, he put a finger against her lips and said, “Tonight.”

She bit his finger and he laughed, then managed to flip their positions so that he lay atop her. He rose on his elbows and stared down into her face. “This is our first date. I won’t take your clothes off. I won’t let my hands stray to second-date territory. I won’t let my mouth go the places it wants to go so badly that I’m shocked I’m not drooling. While I would love nothing more than to strip off your clothes and have wild mountain-goat sex with you, I’m trying to have more respect for us both.”

Sage blinked. “Wild mountain-goat sex?”

He ducked his head and buried his face against her neck. “You smell and taste like summertime. Think that’s why I’m so hot?”

“It’s lavender and apples,” she replied, deliberately ignoring the question.

“I love lavender and apples.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You want to neck some more?”

Sage couldn’t help it—she laughed. “Are you seventeen, Rafferty?”

“Twice.” He grinned slowly and winked wickedly. “I’m experienced.”

The glint in his eyes appealed to the part of her that had never met a contest she didn’t want to win. “Experienced enough to handle me, big guy?”

His eyes widened, then gleamed. “Try me.”

Sage placed her hand against the back of his neck and pulled his head down to hers, then proceeded to give him a blistering kiss. From that moment on, it was a battle. She wiggled and rubbed and worked her way back on top of him, which allowed her better access to his body. He’d promised not to strip off her clothes, but she had made no such promise, so soon she had his shirt open and her hands splayed across his chest. He had great pecs, firm and covered with a light layer of dark hair. His nipples were small and hard, and when she flicked her thumb across one of them, he sucked in an audible breath past gritted teeth.

Sage wanted to taste him, to tease him, so she trailed her mouth down his neck, gently nipping her way to his collarbone, then finally to his breast. His hands were clamped at her hips, his fingers tightened around her like a vise.

The bulge in his jeans was prominent, and Sage couldn’t deny that seeing it, feeling it against her, both stirred her and satisfied her. She liked the fact that this man was that hard for her.

“You smell good, too, Rafferty,” she said, blowing softly on the flesh she’d sampled. “Taste good, too.”

“It’s not lavender,” he responded, his voice rough and raspy. “Irish Spring.”

Sage grinned impishly and adopted an Irish brogue as she quoted an old commercial. “For the manly man.”

Then she leaned down and licked the nipple she’d previously neglected.

“Ah, Sage. Please.” His eyes shut, he grimaced. “You’re killing me here.”

“Crying uncle, Rafferty?”

“Uncle and aunt,” he groaned. “Cousin. Niece. Nephew.”

Then he opened his eyes, stared up at her, and said, “I could probably be talked into being easy.”

Sage wavered. Being easy sounded awfully good to her right about now, too. She