Sandcastle Beach (Matchmaker Bay #3) - Jenny Holiday Page 0,91

capable of talking themselves out of this. They probably should talk themselves out of this.

“Okay,” he said, “but—”

“Shh.” She put her hands on his and guided them up so he was cupping her breasts.

“Oh shit,” he said.

“Will you shut up?” She let go of his hands, wrapped her arms around his neck, and tugged his head down and kissed him. That should do it.

It did. He kissed her back, right away, no hesitation. She sighed into his mouth. This was starting to feel normal. Like it was a thing they did. Not boring-normal, though, as evidenced by the heat that gathered inside her when his hands, which had been resting lightly on her breasts, started to really get in on the action. He slid them back and forth, his palms rough against her sensitive flesh. As much as she’d been having trouble getting in a full breath before, now she was all sighs, sighs shading into moans. His mouth came back to hers, swallowing one of those moans, and his hands kept going, kneading and then grazing her nipples, and it was almost too much.

His tongue, his hands, him. Too much and not enough at the same time, and didn’t that sum up just about everything to do with Ben Lawson?

She twisted, trying to rub herself against him, but his arms were in the way as he continued to work her breasts. She hummed her frustration into his mouth and pulled on his neck to lever herself to the side. There. There was his erection against her hip. Another pull on his neck and she launched herself off the ground. One of his hands came around to grab her butt, instinctively, it felt like, like at the dunk tank. She squirmed in his hold until his hardness was lined up with her center and ground herself shamelessly on him, her thin skirt letting her really feel the bulge beneath his jeans.

“Oh shit,” he said again, and she laughed against his mouth. She had reduced him to one short phrase.

Which was good, but not ideal. “Shh.” She kissed him again.

It didn’t work this time. He groaned and pulled his head away. He kept holding her up with his body, taking a step so she was backed against the window, which created more friction where their bodies were joined. It was glorious.

“Sorry,” he rasped, “but we have to talk. A little bit.”

“Why?” She tried to lick his neck.

He took evasive maneuvers. “There has to be a logistical discussion at the very least.”

“A logistical discussion? Wow, you really have some moves.” She tried another approach, reaching for the hem of his T-shirt. She couldn’t get it very far up, given the way he was bracing her against the window with his body, but she got her hands on his skin at least. Her fingers traced taut stomach muscles.

He hissed like she was hurting him but followed it with more talk. “Yeah. Birth control? STIs?”

“Here’s your discussion: Do you have condoms in this apartment?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, end of discussion.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. She tried again with the shirt, and this time he helped her, lifting one arm at a time while using the other to keep holding her up.

His shirt dispensed with, he stepped away enough to slide her back to her feet, but then he was back, smiling against her mouth as they kissed. He started walking backward, pulling her with him, their arms around each other like they were slow dancing. They were clumsy, trying to walk as a unit but not stop kissing, which led them to step on each other’s toes and trip over their own feet.

His smile was contagious. She was super turned on as her breasts slid against his chest, but some of the urgency had bled out of their encounter, making way for levity. They laughingly stumbled their way into the bathroom, where he yanked open the medicine cabinet and found a box of condoms. He grabbed her hand, giving up on the lip-locked stumble-walking, and led her into his bedroom, the mystery room she’d wondered about for so long.

She didn’t have time to really take it in, because he sat on the bed and pulled her onto his lap. Once she was there, he flopped onto his back, taking her with him. She squealed—which, let the record show, was not the same as talking—as she landed on his chest. He went right for her lips, palming her cheeks to angle her face so he