“Like you want me to kiss you.”
I blink up at him. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I don’t know.”
“How do you not know?” He laughs gently and shakes his head. “You’re so…”
“So what?” I lick my lips.
He groans. “That, for example. You’re fuckinglush. It’s hypnotic. It’s hard to believe that you don’t understand the impact you have on men. On me.”
My belly clenches at the rough edge on the last two words. They sound like a confession.
“I affect you?”
“Far more than I should allow you to.” Histhumb presses with more intent now, tracing the shape of my mouth. “I shouldn’t tell you what I thought about this mouth the first time we met.”
“I think you should.”
“It’s hard to walk back from that kind of confession.”
I’m emboldened by the accuracy of my assessment. “We’re married, Coach. It’s okay to tell your wife dirty secrets.”
“Jesus Christ.” He crushes his mouth to mine, giving me an unexpected kiss instead of whatever story I thought I could pull from him.
He tastes like lime and sugar, and his cheek still has a faint whiff of a deeply masculine aftershave. Combined with the deeply confident tease of his tongue at the seam of my lips, and it’s a deadly combination.
I moan into his mouth, parting fully for him, and he takes control, backing me up against the door all the way, using our kissing, tangled bodies to push it open until we’re in the shadows of the open doorway and I’m wrapped around him.
He presses me firmly between him and the door at my back, making me feel small and safe and precious as he kisses me over and over again. My head spins and my pulse pounds. Nothing has ever felt as good or right as his tongue stroking deep against mine, flooding all of my senses with an overload of sensation. His hard muscles strain against my hands, his hot mouth tastes indescribably good, his skin is this incrediblecombination of clean and smooth and then also bristly rough in surprisingly right ways.
I think he shaved after the game, and he already has some stubble.
It makes my thighs shake to think about what that would feel like somewhere else. Anywhere else. Everywhere else.
I whimper into his mouth, and my leg climbs up to his hip, shamelessly rubbing myself against him by instinct as his hands scoop down to my ass, pulling?—
And then freezing.
His breath ragged, he yanks his mouth from mine and presses his forehead to mine. “Stop, Molly.”
I stop.
Shame spirals through me, hot and fast, equal to the desire that spiked like mercury a moment earlier.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“Never be sorry,” he whispers back.
The shame dissolves.
He holds me so tightly, but he doesn’t kiss me again. He just breathes, in and out, in and out. Silent and aching.
When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are dark and intense in the dim light. “That shouldn’t have happened. But I won’t pretend I didn’t want it.”
“Why shouldn’t …?”
