And he had the stupidest, most ill-advised, and reckless impulse ever.
He tipped his head, quickly assessing the distance between them. It wasn’t much; she was nearly stepping on his toes. He met her gaze, then studied her features, resting his study on her full lips. After he’d looked his fill, he met her curious but not unaccepting expression.
He licked his lips.
She mirrored the movement, her lips parting just a fraction of in inch as she took in a shaky breath.
“I’m . . . that is . . .” she trailed off, swallowing. “Talking.”
“You indeed are,” he murmured softly, then lowered his head to trace the line of her cheek with the edge of his nose, inhaling deeply the faint and inviting fragrance of lavender.
She released a shaking breath. “Oh.”
“Still talking,” he whispered against her skin.
“That’s what . . .” She let out a tight breath, then breathed in again. “What happens when we open our . . . mouths?” she finished.
He reached up and traced the length of her arms with his fingers, tickling her skin softly till he reached her shoulders, then grasped them warmly, holding her in place.
He trailed several kisses from her cheek, along her jaw to the base of her neck. Her pulse pounded against his lips, her heart feverishly pumping. He smiled at the reaction she was experiencing from his attentions.
Though, truth be told, his heart was pounding just as fast.
His mind kept telling him that he was riding a dangerous line.
He kept telling his mind to shut up as he feathered kisses up her neck to the base of her ear. She tipped her neck just enough to grant him further access as she let out a soft sigh.
“You aren’t talking anymore,” he whispered into her ear, then nipped the earlobe teasingly.
“I . . .” she murmured, then didn’t finish.
He wasn’t ready yet; he wanted every coherent thought from her mind, he wanted to drive her so mad with need that she couldn’t whisper even one word.
He trailed his fingers along her shoulders, to the base of her neck and down the lines of her back as he kissed down to the hollow of her throat, lingering there as his tongue swirled against her skin.
“Anything else you wish to add to the conversation?” he asked, proud of himself that he was able to trail together any words at all. His body hummed with need.
When she didn’t answer, he knew he’d won.
But victory wasn’t complete, not without the prize.
He leaned back to meet her closed eyes. When they opened, they were unfocused and hungry.
He lowered his head.
She licked her lips.
He was a breath away.
She parted her mouth.
And he claimed the prize.
Her kiss was warm, untutored, and inviting all at once. Like a cool, refreshing lake in the middle of a hot summer day, the sensation was as electrifying as it was delightful. Her lips were soft, her scent intoxicating, and she willingly leaned into him with the smallest invitation from his hand on her back. He released her from the kiss, but only to tip his head in the other direction and claim her lips again. He wanted to taste her from every direction, in every way. Like taking a drink of cool water only to realize you were parched with thirst, one kiss wasn’t enough, two wouldn’t be enough. He drank her in, reminding himself that she was innocent, that she was learning to accept and return a kiss, when what he wanted to do was ravage her utterly.
He knew his control was wavering, and whatever honorable shred of his dignity remained gave him the strength to slow the kiss and end it.
Yet, as she opened her eyes, a sobering realization tickled the back of his mind.
Rather than simply collecting the prize of her kiss, he might have forfeited something more important.
His heart.
God save him.
Heathcliff was going to kill him.
