Gratitude overwhelms me. I don’t even know exactly what I am thanking him for.
He lifts my hand and places a tender kiss on the inside of my palm; I feel it in my chest.
I fall asleep enveloped in him so that by the first sunrays, I conclude that sharing a bed with him is even more intimate than fucking.
Opening my eyes, I find his already fixed on me. Arm propped, he holds his cheek in his palm, watching me.
Heat warms my cheeks, and I drag the sheet over my face, suddenly shy.
He pries it down. “No hiding.”
“How long have you been awake?”
“I haven’t slept at all,” he says, his eyes sweeping over my face as if mapping every inch.
That is oddly romantic, making my heart rate triple. I am afraid one of these days it might take off from my chest.
“Afraid I would slip out?”
His eyes darken. “Never do that again.”
“I won’t,” I breathe out, not shaking the impression that I am agreeing to so much more.
Rolling me onto my back, he settles himself between my legs and runs his nose along my neck, making the throbbing between my thighs pulse, desperate to be eased.
Until him, I had no trouble taking care of the itch when it presented itself, but it stopped being enough. The gratification stake is higher. I need more—more than my fingers, more than a good smut book.
“You smell so good. And you let out these sweet sounds.”
“I snore?” I ask, mortified.
He chuckles, lifting my hand to his mouth and kissing each fingertip.
“You still haven’t answered.”
“Let’s pretend to disagree. You say snoring, I say singing.”
Yeah, right, he’s such a charmer.
Dipping his face, I close my eyes, savoring the press of his lips on mine. Each swipe is a testament to want. Each nibble is a show of desire. Each kiss, an ambrosia-filled ruin.
Locking my arms around his neck, I give in, letting this man seduce me kiss by kiss, which only makes me starved for more.
While I steal moments with him, he steals pieces of my heart.
He is hard between my thighs, but just like last night, he stops and forces himself from me and leaving me aching—aching for more of his passionate kisses and fiery touches, of him filling me.
He shifts toward the bed’s edge, placing his feet on the floor, and shakes his head, attempting to clear his thoughts. It does things to me, knowing I affect him so much. But we did it all backwards. Not that I mind.
Reaching for him, I slip under his arm, ending up in his lap.
Grinning, I lock my arms around his neck and play with the ends of his hair, wishing to ease his mind. “I don’t mind.”
He snakes one arm around my back and lowers his hand toward my ass, giving the cheek a squeeze. “Yes, tempting me.Testing me. Dangling all that softness and perfection. My being a gentleman is a fucking hoax.”
“Admirable.”
He drags his hand down his face, sighing. “In vain.”
