He lifted that head, swallowed, and asked, “What?”
“I don’t know whether to throw something at you or jumpyou.”
He grinned a wicked grin that set mycoochieto buzzing.
“We’re taking it slow, remember?”
“Yeah.Right.Great.”
He kept grinning and the buzzing got stronger.
“Stop turning me on,” I warned.
“Stop being cute,” he fired back.
I stuck my tongue out at him.
He watched it then looked in my eyes.“That didn’t work.”
“Whatever,” I muttered, grabbed my bread, and gnawed off ahuge chunk with my teeth.
Marcus burst out laughing.
And I loved the sound.
Whatever!
Marcus ripped his mouth from mine, rested hisforehead against mine, and murmured a labored, “Christ.”
I stood pressed against the doorjamb of his bedroom, mychest heaving, brushing against his, this setting my nipples to tingling (orsetting them to tinglingmore).My fingers were also gripping the backof his sweater in a way that I was sure would misshape it forever.
It was a great sweater.This would be a shame.
I just couldn’t find it in me at that minute to care.
It was time to go to bed.
And Marcus led me to his bedroom, where I was sleeping (andhe would hear none of it that I could take a guest room (he didn’t have onelike he’d said, he hadthree) so I shut up about it) and he’d justgiven me a goodnight kiss that led to another one that led to another one thatled to a make-out session in his doorway.
He had one hand curled around the back of my neck, the otherhand braced on the jamb over my head.
His hold and pose were hot.
So I was not feeling slow.
At all.
“I think maybe we can—” I began.
He lifted his forehead from mine and cut me off.
“We need to work up to it.”
“I’m up for more working up to it,” I shared with himbreathily.
He took his hand from the jamb and brushed his fingers alongmy jaw.
“Don’t make this harder,” he ordered gently.
