A corresponding smile finds my own lips.A little wobbly, a little shy, but utterly genuine.“Morning,” I whisper back.
The peace is all-encompassing.It feels like we’re the only two people in the world.
The world…
The Saturday morning rush.
The café.
Helen.
Reluctantly, I break the spell of his bright eyes, glancing around the room.“What time is it?”
He lets out a contended sigh, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me closer, until my cheek is pressed to the warm skin of his chest.“What does it matter?”he rumbles, nuzzling my hair.
A thrill shoots through me.Every fiber of my being yearns to surrender to this bliss.“Mmm,” I sigh, melting against him for another delicious moment.“Weekends are the busiest at the café.”
A low chuckle vibrates through his chest.He rolls us, settling partially on top, his body caging me against the soft pillows.“The café, always the café,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my forehead, then the tip of my nose.“You know, there are laws against working seven days a week.”His voice is a teasing caress.
“Is that so, Esteemed Counselor?”I giggle.“But if you love what you do—”
“It doesn’t feel like work,” he finishes for me, his gaze dropping to my lips.
Before I can answer, his mouth is on mine.A slow, teasing kiss that deepens, reigniting embers from the night before into an insistent flame.His lips trail from my mouth, down my jaw, to my neck.I gasp, my fingers tangling in his rumpled hair.
“I’m hungry,” he whispers against my throat.
A fresh wave of giggles bubbles up.“If you drive me to the café, I can feed you…” I barely manage, breathless.
“Mmm,” he hums.The soft cotton of his T-shirt rides up my torso as his hand slides underneath, fingers caressing the skin he’s just exposed.“Why wait…” His eyes, blazing with desire, find mine.
“Well, because…” My voice is barely a thread of sound.
“I’m not asking,” he interrupts, his mouth reclaiming mine.
This time, there’s no teasing.It’s a deep, hungry claiming that speaks of pent-up longing.I meet his hunger with my own, my hands pulling him closer, my body a desperate, arching plea for more.
The feel of his hand, warm and seeking on the bare skin of my stomach, sends molten heat pooling deep in my core.All thoughts of the café, of Helen, of anything beyond this bed and this man, evaporate like morning mist.
His palm splays possessively over my ribs, just beneath my breast.His thumb strokes the sensitive skin there, making me gasp against his lips.His other hand joins the exploration, mapping the curve of my hip, fingers dipping beneath the thin barrier of lace.
Every touch is electric.Every kiss a deeper plunge into a vortex of sensation.
The hard planes of his body on mine.
The rasp of his stubble on my skin.
The scent of him.
The taste of him.
The low growls rumbling in his chest.
My own soft moans shattered on his lips.
His hands find the hem of the T-shirt, pushing the fabric up and over my head.His lips and tongue leave a searing path in their wake while his fingers explore.
Ignite.
