We stand like that for one second, two seconds, until the moment I’m waiting for arrives: sherelaxes, the tension easing out of her body as she melts into me, and deep in my soul, something sings, jubilant and bright.
Hugging Aurora sounded like fun…but it feels like home.
An old impulse, born of habit, urges me to run—because simply hugging a woman shouldn’t be so fulfilling. I shove that impulse into the past, where it belongs; where it will stay.
“We should get a few things straight,” Aurora says, and although her body remains relaxed against mine, her voice is full of business.
So I sigh and step back, just enough that I can see her face. “Fine.”
“You bought my house,” she says, narrowing her eyes up at me. Her arms are still around my neck, and her fingers play distractingly in my hair as she speaks.
“Yep,” I say.
“Why?”
“Another two birds, one stone situation.” When she doesn’t respond, I sigh. “I get to do something useful with my money instead of resenting it. You get to stay in your house because I, your landlord, will not be kicking you out.” I shrug and rest my hands at her waist. “Everyone wins.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Not much I can do about that, little vandal,” I say, reveling in the feel of her curves beneath my touch. “Deal is done. However…” I trail off and then nod slowly, conceding with reluctance. “I can understand why you don’t like it.”
“Don’t do it again.”
I hum in agreement. “If you ever have another house you might not be able to buy, I solemnly swear I will not buy that house.”
“Thank you,” she says with a haughty little sniff.
“My turn,” I say. I pull her closer once more, and when I speak, my voice is even. “We are dating. We are not hooking up. We are not casually hanging out. We are dating. I am your boyfriend. Agreed?”
“I already said yes, didn’t I?” she says, raising her eyebrows.
“I’m just concerned you might be tempted to use me for my perfect body instead of cherishing my gentle soul,” I say, and she tries to hide her snort of laughter. “But like I said,” I go on, “that arrangement wouldn’t work for me.”
“No?” she says with a tilt of her head.
“No.” Slowly, carefully, I lift my hand and trail one finger down her spine. “When we do this,” I say, watching with satisfaction as her breath hitches at my touch, “you’re only with me, and I’m only with you.”
Her arms unwind from around my neck. “If I’m going to be robbing the cradle?—”
“Whenyou rob the cradle,” I cut her off. “Theifis gone.”
She hums and runs her hands up my chest instead, her fingers finding the collar of my shirt and tugging me closer.
“Fine,” she says while I struggle to remember my own name. “When.When we do this…” She arches her brow at me. “I will expect you to kiss me properly.”
I grin. “Maybe I should be the one saying that, hmm?”
Her grip on my collar tightens, and in a flash she’s yanked me down to meet her, her lips sealing over mine. A huff of laughter escapes me, but it gets lost in our kiss—slow, exploratory lips, searching and testing until we discover, at the same time, that we both know the truest kissing secret:
That grasping, desperate kisses have their place, maybe, as a prelude to more—but far more enjoyable are the kisses that exist for themselves, luxurious and languid and deep. I cradle her face, stroke my thumbs over her cheeks, relish the press of her body against mine as I begin my search for the things that will make her melt.
“Proper kissing is just a matter of research,” I breathe as I lean back. I duck my head and skim my lips over her jaw. “To find how you react when I kiss you here”—I press a kiss to the spot beneath her ear—“or here”—a kiss to her neck—“or here.” I nip her earlobe, and she inhales sharply. I smile, tucking this knowledge away for future use.
“Know-it-all,” she murmurs as her hands splay over my chest, and her voice is hoarse in a way that makes me shiver.
“That’s the goal.”
The moon is still bright overhead, casting a silver-blue glow over us as we look at each other. I wrap my arms around her, holding her as close as I can.
