Irresistibly Yours - Lauren Layne Page 0,47
she pulled back.
His eyes were dark with arousal as he lifted his eyebrows in question.
She pressed her lips together. They tingled. In a good way.
“You should know…I’m not very good at this,” she said. You’re going to be disappointed.
He smiled and ran a finger over her lower lip. “Don’t worry. Because I’m very good at this.”
And then he proved it, wrapping his hands around her hips and easily lifting her on top of him so that she was straddling him on the couch.
“Oh,” she said softly.
He smiled wickedly, wrapped his hand around the back of her head, and pulled her face down to his, his tongue sliding against hers in one hot, delicious stroke.
Yes. Yes, he was good at this.
If their earlier kisses had made her hot, this kiss set her on fire. His lips and tongue were everywhere. His hands touching every part of her that he could reach.
His hands cupped her butt, tugging her firmly against his erection and rocking upward. She moaned, her hips moving of their own accord now as she ground against him.
It was good, but not enough. Not nearly enough. There were still layers separating them, and Penelope had never hated clothes as much as she did in that moment.
As though reading her mind, Cole’s hands slid up under her shirt, his palms touching the bare skin of her back for the first time, and that simple, skin-to-skin contact made a moan escape her lips.
He ran his hands up until they found her bra strap, unsnapping it with disconcerting ease before sliding his hands around to cover her breasts.
Penelope squeezed her eyes shut.
This would be the part where he changed his mind. The part where he realized that she had absolutely no curves. That her clothes didn’t lie—that she wasn’t secretly hiding a bombshell figure under all the layers.
“Ah, fuck, Pen,” he said, his fingers plucking her nipples in toying strokes. “You’re fucking perfect.”
Her eyes flew open, searching his face for signs of a lie.
But then he was tugging her shirt over her head, roughly pushing away the cups of her bra.
Before she could register embarrassment, his hand slid up her back, pulling her toward him as his mouth found her breast.
Her breath came out on a gasp as she arched into him. His tongue flicked at her nipple before he shifted to her other breast, and Penelope forgot all about being embarrassed, forgot all about the fact that her sexual experience paled in comparison to his.
None of that mattered. There was only Cole with his hot mouth and clever fingers.
She had to touch him.
Her hands roamed over his shoulders, his chest, then down to the hem of his shirt. He sat up and in one easy motion tugged the shirt off.
Penelope’s mouth went dry. He was perfect. Toned and golden and very, very male.
“You are so out of my league,” she said, scraping her nails over his bare chest.
His eyes slitted. “Not from where I’m sitting,” he said, his voice husky.
He sat up straighter, his hands cupping her face as he nipped her lips. “Let me take you to the bedroom.”
His hands slid down, his thumbs finding her nipples and sending any protests she might have uttered out the window.
She started to climb off him, but he scooped his hands beneath her butt, pulling her to him as he stood, easily holding her up.
“Nice trick, Sharpe.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “You like?”
In answer, she wound her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and kissed him as he walked them into the bedroom.
Penelope had a moment of embarrassment that she hadn’t made the bed—she rarely bothered.
But Cole didn’t seem to mind when he deposited her among the mess of blankets and slowly lowered himself over her, his tongue running lazy circles over her throat until he inched down and sucked a nipple into his hot mouth.
Then her pants were gone—how had that happened?—and his lips were tickling the soft skin of her lower belly.
“I like the way you taste right here,” he said, licking at the sensitive skin just below her navel. “Sweet.”
Penelope propped herself up on her elbows, watching as his mouth skimmed over her skin, leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touched.
One of his hands drifted lower, over her thighs, before moving back up again, gently raking over the fabric of her underwear, and Penelope arched her back.
His eyebrows lifted, and he returned his hand to the tiny cotton triangle, tracing teasing circles over her.
“Cole. Don’t tease.”
In response,