dipped his head toward hers and hovered there, mouth over mouth, breath to breath. She realized with a jolt that he wasn’t kidding. He was nervous. Or maybe this was that kiss foreplay he’d mentioned. He caught her bottom lip between both of his and tugged gently and then did the same to her top lip. They stayed like that, feeling each other, adjusting to each other, to the sudden change in their relationship.
Just when she wondered whether that was going to be it, he made a growly noise and crushed his mouth to hers. His hand palmed the back of her head, his touch hot against her scalp.
If their first kiss outside the bar had been an urgent beat, a frantic dance, this one was a swaying ballad. A sweet waltz. A slow-motion union of body and mind that she never wanted to end. Insecurities would have their day, but not right now. Because right now her senses were alive with this. The fire between them. It sizzled and sparked and scorched.
Liv became a single-celled being. Every sense was tuned to the slow dragging of his fingers in her hair, the ragged breathing that traveled from his chest to hers, to the dip and pull of his mouth against hers.
She gave in to temptation and slid her hand up his arm, slipping her fingers inside the sleeve of his T-shirt. She felt him shudder, and suddenly his mouth wrenched from hers and began a hot descent along her jaw as his hands slid down the sides of her body. When his lips touched the tender spot where her pulse pounded, she let out a moan and squeezed the bulge of biceps beneath her fingers. He flexed just enough to make it obvious. She smiled and squeezed the muscle again and was rewarded with the flick of his tongue into the small cleft of cleavage visible above her shirt.
“You smell good,” he rasped, moving his mouth to her ear.
“I smell like a bakery.”
“Exactly.” The tip of his tongue touched her earlobe. “You always smell like cookies or vanilla ice cream or something.” His mouth kissed a path back to hers. “It drives me crazy.”
This. This was what it meant to be kissed. This was what it meant to get lost in light and sound and sensation until everything disappeared but his lips, his taste, his scent, him. This was what she’d been missing without even knowing it.
It was also how mistakes were made. She should care, but she didn’t. She should stop, but she couldn’t. Her brain, her entire world could focus on one thing only—the feel of his hands on her face, his lips on hers.
By the time he finally eased his mouth away, they were both panting from heat and longing. Liv’s eyes fluttered open. She found him watching her, tenderness in his expression, wonderment in the small tilt of his smile. His hand tugged hers higher so he could press a kiss to her wrist before placing it over his heart.
Oh wow. That was . . . that was the most romantic gesture she’d ever experienced. “Mack . . .” All she could get out was his name.
“I like it when you say my name like that.”
He pulled her mouth toward his again.
And then they froze at the sound of stirring in the bedroom.
Mack let out a little groan and lifted his head to listen. After a moment with no more sounds, he lowered his forehead to hers. They stayed that way for a long, quiet beat. Collecting their thoughts.
Liv’s were a frantic mess. Confused and frightened. He wasn’t supposed to be like this—sweet and tender. He was supposed to be Braden Mack, conqueror of women, sarcastic man-child. He was safe that way.
“Can I ask you something?” he rasped.
“Okay.” Her voice barely worked.
“How do chickens have sex if they don’t have vaginas?”
“Oh my God.” Liv pushed him away with a laugh—a grateful laugh—and grabbed the nearest throw pillow. She whipped him in the head. “Go home.”
He laughed and lunged for her, grabbing her around the waist before she could get away. He hauled her against his chest and reclined on the couch, drawing her with him. “You have to tell me,” he said. “Imagine how bad those Google results would be.”
She sighed. “They rub their cloacas together.”
He rubbed his hands up her arms. “You should come over tomorrow night.”