Hard Pass by Sara Ney Page 0,51

on the carpet as he hauls me into his lap with seemingly little effort. I’m not tiny by any means, but I feel dainty as he hefts me over.

For a kiss.

Swoon! I have died and gone to heaven…

I’m in his lap when our mouths meet again, everything I just ate forgotten, inhibitions gone. His lips are warm, but not tentative. Full.

He’s holding me—cradling me, almost—bowing his head to seal the deal, and I let my arms rise so I can curl my hands behind his head, fingers grazing his hair at the nape of his neck.

He could probably use a haircut, but he smells fantastic, the pheromones working their magic on my lady parts.

His broad chest feels good. Warm. His hands on my back, supporting me? Better. The mouth fused against mine? Delicious.

I cannot get enough of Noah Harding the sweet, sweet man child.

I cradle his face as I sit in his lap, legs hanging over his crossed ones, our tongues finally getting acquainted.

There is nothing timid about the way he’s kissing me, no hesitations like there are when he speaks. No shyness. No embarrassment.

I feel my panties dampen.

He moves me then, just out of the way of the bags and containers scattered on the floor, laying me down and rolling to hover over me, large hand cupping my cheek the way I cupped his. Staring down at me, memorizing the contours of my face with his eyes and hands.

I don’t dare move. Or talk.

Or breathe.

I do not want it to end.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me. “Smart.” The tip of his finger runs along the Cupid’s bow of my upper lip. “Funny.” It trails up the bridge of my nose. Along my eyebrow. “Sexy.” Me, sexy? Do go on. “Cute.” No, not that! “Brave.”

“How am I brave?” I whisper, not wanting to break the spell, but curious.

“Because,” he whispers back, “you’re 22 and you’re starting your own business. That takes guts.”

Oh, that.

Yes. Yes it does.

Noah’s brown eyes get darker the longer he looks down at me, pupils dilating, nostrils flaring a little.

I recognize that look: he is turned on.

My breath hastens more when his hand takes a leisurely trip down the column of my neck, brushing the hair back, thumb playing with the underside of my earlobe.

Down over the curve between my neck and shoulder, palm flattening, fingers skimming lightly over my collarbone—one of my favorite erogenous zones.

I barely resist a moan.

Noah falters, his attention drawn to the open part of my dress, where my breasts are pushed up by a black, lacy bra. To urge him on, I reach up and rake an entire hand of fingers through his hair, nails grazing his scalp.

He gets the message loud and clear, the rough palm of his hand slowly dragging across the exposed part of my skin, sending a ripple through my body and causing goose bumps to arise. My nipples pucker and he notices, giving them the attention they want, tip of his index finger tracing round and round over the fabric of my dress.

Then.

He draws that fabric back, hand caressing the lace bra. Thumb stroking the plumped-up mound I hadn’t realized was so sensitive to the touch.

This time, that moan escapes on a sigh. Relief. Pleasure.

God, I love having my boobs played with and it’s been too long—way too long. I love it. I. love. it.

“So pretty,” he’s murmuring again, leaning in, pushing back the bra, mouth latching onto my nipple and my hands now fully buried in this thick hair, wanting him to stay this way forever and give me all the ’gasms.

Sue me for being lazy and wanting to just lie here, but c’mon!

Noah sucks, his tongue pure magic. So magical I swear, if he sucks my nipple long enough, I may end up coming. No lie. It feels that amazing or I’m that easy—does it even matter?

No.

All that matters is this boy.

He does not miss a beat, suckling at the same time his hands go to the little knotted belt at my waist, tugging hard enough to release the loop. Big, warm, calloused hand roaming over my stomach, down to the waistband of the granny panties I wore so I wouldn’t have sex with him on the first date.

So much for that dumb idea.

“Cute.” I feel him smile, lips and hands all over my body.

My knees spread at the welcome intrusion, already weakened. I am wanton.

He makes me feel sexy, the way he’s gazing up at me, as if I’m the