sprinkled with moles and freckles. I found myself playing a very adult game of connect-the-dots with them. Then I leaned forward to kiss his corded muscles that contracted under my lips. I outlined the shape of his rock-hard biceps with my hands, trailing down to his forearms.
“You’re being very thorough,” he said.
“I have a lot to explore.” I crawled behind him, ready to investigate his back next, to see what I’d only glimpsed in Las Vegas. But he didn’t seem to have the same amount of patience that he normally did.
“Kissing you. Now,” he demanded as he turned to face me, and I was only too happy to let him. There was that faint echo of fear before his mouth was on mine, colliding into me like a massive wave crashing onto a beach, but there was no hesitation from either one of us. No gentleness or tenderness, either. He was like a roaring fire that I could only barely contain, barely resist. He was going to consume me.
And instead of that scaring me, I wholeheartedly embraced it, the way his mouth was ravaging mine, how he pulled me against him so tightly. We’d really hit the ground running, full throttle. This was more than a kiss. It was like he was going to devour me, and it was utterly intoxicating.
He broke off midkiss, his breathing heavy. “Sorry, sorry if it’s too much,” he said, like he’d only barely remembered himself and was trying to get back under control.
Problem was, I wanted him this way. I knew he typically held back, kept himself in check, to make sure I was all right. But here and now . . . he didn’t have to worry. I was on board for this ride. There was an undeniable thrill that I could render him this mindless and needy. “No. I like it.”
Twin brown flames burned in his eyes. “Tell me when you want me to stop.”
Never was what I was going to say, but his mouth was back on mine again, insistent and strong, parting my sensitized lips, sending lines of fire down my nerves. My abdomen tightened, filling with heat and want. The attraction I felt for him was so . . . chemical. Intense, overwhelming.
“You taste like sugar,” he murmured against my lips, and I wanted to tell him that he tasted like heaven, but he was kissing me again. He was also laying me back against the bed, moving to hover over me.
He hesitated again, and I was the one who made the decision. I reached up to his shoulders and pulled him against me, and sighed with sheer pleasure at his massive frame being pressed against mine, the way we complemented each other and fit together. I wrapped my legs around his, intertwining us like two pieces of yarn being woven together, and was rewarded by his breath catching.
Liking that sound and wanting more of it, I pressed my lips to his throat, moving my hands into his hair so that I could scrape his scalp with my fingertips in the way that I knew drove him crazy.
Sure enough, he shuddered against me and made another strangled groaning, growling sound and his mouth was on me again, kissing me once, twice, three times, and then outlining my jaw before moving to work on my neck. The heat moved up from my stomach into my chest until it almost hurt to breathe. He didn’t seem to be having the same problem, as his breaths were hot on my skin, and I felt a pull deep and low that had me moving to capture his lips with mine again.
“Now I think I’m the one who’s going to have an anxiety attack,” he muttered.
“Oh. I wouldn’t want that,” I teased. “We could stop.”
“Um, no,” he growled, and I laughed. But then his lips were touching mine and all of my laughter instantly stopped.
As his mouth skated over mine again and again, he sent blood rushing to every part of my body. It was a little like being caught up in my own personal earthquake. Everything was off-kilter and out of control, except for him. He was rock solid and constant, just as he’d promised, and I clung to him as my head grew dizzy with sensation, my eyes blurring and unable to focus.
He reached down with one hand to grab at my hip, pulling me against him, but we couldn’t get any closer. I got the inclination—it was what I wanted, too.