"Let’s keep going," she said, leaning forward to press a simple kiss to his lips.
He tangled his hand in her hair when he really wanted to pump his fist with joy. "You’re gorgeous."
She couldn’t seem to meet his eyes at that declaration. But he wasn’t giving lip service, shewasgorgeous.
"I mean it," he said.
"You’re only saying that because you can move your head from side to side now without pain."
She was so wrong. So very, very wrong.
"I want to taste you so bad." He held her gaze captive with his own. "It’s taking everything in me not to use my loose neck muscles for your benefit."
"What does that even mean?" she asked, rolling her eyes.
He would’ve preferred to be smoother in his approach, but that wouldn’t happen. So he practically crawled to her over the cushions, then pulled her up to him so they were chest to chest.
"This is the time you tell me to stop," he said. "Before I get my taste."
This was the point of no return for him. He didn’t fully understand the impact of the thought, but he understood enough to know that once he got the taste, it would change things for him.
She said nothing. Instead, she closed the gap between them and pressed her mouth to his. She tasted like cherry lip gloss with undertones of honey and vanilla, all with a dash of cinnamon. He kissed her slow and let her get used to him before he arranged her how he wanted this time. On her back, facing him.
He crawled over the top of her. His hands clasped with hers and he pulled them over her head, so her breasts perked up to his chest.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, but she was, and that was not okay.
So holding her hands above her head with only one of his, he gripped her hip and dipped his head to the cotton covering her nipples, kissing the fabric.
She arched toward him in what was definitely an invitation.
The pants she wore for the flight were the soft kind with a stretchy waistband. He thanked heaven for yoga pants—easy access and all that.
He kept his gaze on hers, gauging to be sure she was still good with this intrusion as he moved his free hand there to her waistband, then under the fabric of her panties. He didn’t go further, waiting to be sure she was still in this.
"Yeah?" he asked, pausing to ensure she was still in this.
She nodded. "Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop."
He pressed open-mouthed kisses to her lips as his fingers searched her warmth for the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. With his thumb positioned there to rub circles over and around the hard nub, he used his index and middle finger to stroke her open center.
"Mach," she said, his name reverent, like a prayer to send them both over the edge.
With one hand holding hers above her head and the other between her legs, he hadn’t touched himself. Hadn’t given his dick even a little attention. So when she pressed her thigh to give pressure right there where he needed it, he had to take a pause. Inhale a few deep breaths so he didn’t embarrass himself.
Turned out he found something he enjoyed more than bantering with Darla about stupid shit.
He only paused for a second before he went back to work. Then he covered the tight buds of her breasts with his mouth and sucked right through the fabric.
She moaned, and writhed beneath him as his tongue flicked over the fabric, wetting it. She moved against his fingers. She was close.
He wanted to give her this, but he didn’t have a spare hand to move her shirt.
So he released her hands and her breast so he could kiss her mouth instead.
Then he pressed firmer at the center of her arousal, moving his fingers inside to the softer spot he knew would provide the push she needed to get there.
Her hands went to his bare back, her fingernails gripping the muscles as her body clenched around his fingers, wetting them more and releasing for only a moment before clenching again.
