“I’ll have some rules,” he says.
“Such as?”
“For starters, you should kiss me good morning every day and thank me.”
“Thank you for what?”
“Ramming you the night before,” he half teases, quirking one eyebrow up.
I can’t not giggle at him. I’m starting to like our little sarcastic talks and the way he makes me laugh even when it’s the last thing I want to do.
“I see,” I say. “Should I start now?”
He leans into my neck. “You want to kiss me, don’t you?” he whispers in my ear, his breath hot against me.
I turn my face towards his. “I do,” I whisper back, my heart beating faster. The way he makes me feel when he is near me is indescribable and beyond the usual butterflies I have felt in the past when I met someone new and exciting. I feel as if I have known him so much longer than just two days, as if there is some kind of timeless connection between us.
He touches my cheek and runs his thumb across my bottom lip. “Kiss me then. Make me feel like you mean it.”
Swallowing nervously, I tilt my head and kiss his lips. I don’t want it to mean anything, but it’s starting to. I just don’t know exactly what that meaning is yet.
“What are you doing to me?” I ask him softly, looking into his dark eyes, our noses touching.
His hand tightens at the back of my neck. “Everything.”
I’m tumbling fast and hard into the web he’s weaving, clinging to the hope that he really is bringing me out of my depression, making me want to feel and live again. What’s scaring me is he’s making me want him so much. My lips meet his again and I kiss him the only way I can right now—soft, questioning, searching. His breathing grows heavier and he wraps an arm around me, holding me against him. I move my lips down to kiss and gently suck his neck and he groans, his hand sliding down to squeeze my ass. Kissing my way back up to his lips, I pause and peek up into his hooded eyes.
“Fuck, darlin’. You’re killing me.” He sighs.
I touch his stubbled cheek and kiss him again. “How so?”
“Your touch is so soft. No one’s ever kissed me like that.”
“Oh.” My voice drops with disappointment. I guess he’s used to something better, something sexier.
“Hey,” he says. “That’s a compliment. Don’t get down.”
I shake my head a little. “I’m just not good at this.”