“God,” I breathe into his mouth. “Hi.”
He huffs against my lips. “Hi.”
He kisses me again, deeper, and my core tightens. I’m warm and fuzzy and greedy. My hands are everywhere—his shoulders, the back of his neck, the edge of his beard. He groans when I tug it.
God.
His fingers slide under the sweater at my waist, hot and rough and everything I’ve wanted him to do for so long. Finally, we’re skin-to-skin. I gasp, and he freezes.
“Is this okay?” His eyes search mine, like he’s panicked.
“Okay?! More than okay.” I sound like a porn star with my husky voice, but, damn, look at this man.
He doesn’t make me wait, either. His hand is on my lower back now, skimming my ribs. I arch into his touch, moaning my delight as his hands map out my body. He swallows every sound I make with his mouth, kissing me like he never wants to stop.
When I shift a knee over his thigh for balance, the movement pulls the sweater higher. Feeling emboldened, I rock against him once, and we both still. His breath catches, and his fingers flex at my hip, a quiet answer that says,don’t stop.
This is nothing like anything I’ve experienced before. Those were dull, polite men, wary of women like me.
Red wants me. He keeps himself in check—barely—but it’s there in every controlled movement, in the way he holds me like he’s trying not to devour me and failing.
“Red.” I whisper, my forehead pressed to his. “I?—”
“Tell me.”
“I like this. A lot.”
His mouth curves against mine. “Good.”
He kisses me again, his tongue exploring my mouth deeper, and I rock my hips against him. The hand at my ribs strokes one inch higher, his thumb brushing the curve of my breast.
“Red…” My voice takes on a pleading tone, desperate for him to do more, to take it further.
He closes his eyes. I watch his restraint fight with his desire, and I love both. He nods once, almost imperceptibly, and his thumb begins to move again, slowly, more deliberate this time.
The kiss gets messy. Our hands are tangled, the blanket slides onto the floor, and the feeling of his beard against my skinmakes me shiver. I suck his lower lip into my mouth, and he curses, before pressing me closer. His other hand finds the back of my thigh and urges me forward, and I go, straddling his lap without overthinking it.
Oh!
We both freeze for half a heartbeat. The way we fit is perfect. My sweater is just in the way now. His hands grip my hips like he’s trying to remember how to breathe.
“Cookie.”
“I know,” I whisper. I don’t move at first, but then I do. Slowly, grinding against him so slightly that when desire flashes through me, my vision blurs.
He drops his head back for one second, a curse word scraping out of his throat, then he finds my mouth like he has to. I kiss him with everything I’ve been holding back.
We’re on the edge here—it's humming under my skin.
His hand slides under the sweater again, his palm flat against my stomach, fingers curling like he wants more but is begging himself to stop. I rock again, helpless, and he groans into my mouth.
Then there’s a cracking sound like a gunshot.
I jerk, gasping. He jolts and the kiss breaks, both of us whipping our heads toward the window. A branch has snapped under the weight of ice and slammed against the porch rail.
Holy hell!
Red moves like he’s been yanked by a wire. His hands steady me as I scramble off his lap, then he stands, crossing to the door, and checks the latch, the frame, the world beyond.
