“That’s not asking nicely, is it now?” He trailed his finger down from her temple to the edge of her mouth, parting her lips with the pad of his thumb.
“Ethan. Would you please kiss me?” She squirmed. Practically moaned.
He moved and pressed a light kiss to the edge of where her neck met her shoulder. “Like this?”
She groaned low in her throat. Oh, that was an Em pleasure spot. Good to know.
“Not there,” she said on a breath.
He paused the light kisses, but his lips curved into a grin against her skin.
“Here?” he asked, moving to her earlobe.
She shivered.
“Not there.” Of note, she did brush her hair aside for better access.
He kissed lower, along her collarbone.
“Wrong direction,” she muttered.
“Is that so?” His words were husky.
“Maybe I should help,” she said, moving her lips to his earlobe and kissing him where it met his jawline.
He shivered. “Now that, I like.”
She moved in, and he arranged himself carefully so as not to chip anyone’s tooth because that would totally wreck the mood. He seemed to surprise her with his maneuvering, but she was apparently okay with it because when his mouth got close to hers, she let him take control.
Their mouths met and he handled the teeth check thing, and the pressure thing, and—well, he just handled it all.
“God, it’s been a long time,” she said against his mouth. Still squirming in her seat. She made erotic sounds in the back of her throat, and he countered with low rumbles as he held her mouth hostage.
When they finally came up for air, she had been well and truly kissed to smithereens.
“Any particular brand of chocolate?” he asked, hand on the car’s door handle.
“Huh?” she asked, totally confused.
“For your dessert.” He paused. “Chocolate. Marshmallow. Graham Crackers,” he continued, husky and craving more of her mouth.
“Oh, I’m very picky about my chocolate for s’mores.”
“Good, me, too.”
The cat’s-had-his-cream-and-was-going-to-have-the-whole-carton-of-milk expression on her face made him shiver and his donger hard as steel.
He stepped from the car and met her at the hood, taking her hand in his as they moved inside the grocery store.
“Mostly, I’m particular about how my marshmallows are toasted,” she said.
“I just bet you are.”
She nudged him with the side of her arm. “I’m serious. If you’re going to run the flame, then you should know that I like them toasted all the way around so that the center is properly mushy and the outside is crisp, but not in any way burned. Just on the cusp of it, but then you pull the marshmallow away in its perfection.”
Clearly, she’d given this loads of thought on more than one occasion.
He stopped moving to give her his full attention, not even willing to use any of his thoughts for walking, moving. No, every morsel of his awareness pinned to her.
