“Hannah,” he rasped, his hands tightening on my arms. I kissed the hollow of his throat. I could taste the sweat on his skin. Salty. Thick. Hungry.
Kiss. Kiss. Nibbling. I knew this was right. I could feel it. Hard against my belly. Between my legs.
Rolling and falling. A tumbled, twisted mess. I had to make this count.
I felt his lips in my hair. Nuzzling. Too tender. Where was the man with the desperate lips from the parking lot?
I pushed against him, the backs of his legs hitting his couch. He sat down heavily, bringing me with him. I hiked my skirt up over my hips, exposing the lacy panties I had wornjust in case. I straddled him, my fingers in his hair.
“Hannah,” he said again. A little more insistently. I ignored the implication, knowing I had to keep going.
I wouldn’t ruin this. Not now.
I finally kissed him and he yielded. His tongue invaded my mouth and I thought,This is it.
Then he was pulling back. Pushing me off. Gently, of course. But pushing me away all the same.
“Hannah.” He said my name again but this time with an underlying command.
Stop.
I sat back, breathing heavily, my face flushed. My legs spread wide. Humiliation just starting to set in.
“I thought…” I blinked in confusion.
Had I misread the situation entirely?
I thought I had done everything the way I was supposed to.
I started to slither off his lap, my pride in tatters, but Mason held me in place, not letting me move. I couldn’t screw this up! What if I already had?
“You thought right,” he assured me, pulling my hair over my shoulder, his hand firm on the side of my neck, his thumb pressing against my fluttering pulse.
“Then what’s the problem?” I held myself rigid until I knew what direction I needed to go in. How I needed to play this.
And I was hurt.
More than just my pride.
But I couldn’t dwell on that.
“I want to talk to you too, Hannah. I want to know more about you. I don’t want to jump into bed without laying the groundwork. Not this time.”
Not this time.
Okay…
“You want to talk?” I raised my eyebrow, attempting to assuage the discomfort of the situation. I ran my finger down his chest, dipping it into the waist of his jeans, giving it a tug. “Since when does a guy want to talk instead of—?”
“Since the guy realized he’d really like to get to know the woman for more than her body,” Mason interrupted.
Well then.
I wasn’t sure what to make of the way my chest warmed and expanded.
“I’m not much of a talker, Mason,” I warned him, my guard up now. Walls in place.
I had to be so, so careful….
