He opened his eyes.
She was so close. Close enough that he could count her freckles. Close enough that he could see the golden flecks in her brown eyes and the slight flush spreading across her cheeks, the way her pulse fluttered in the hollow of her throat.
"You could ask," she said.
"Ask what?"
"What I want."
He went still, searching her face for any sign of reluctance, any indication that he'd misread the situation and that his desperate wanting had conjured something that wasn't there. But she was smiling that soft, private smile she got sometimes when she thought he wasn't looking. The one that made his chest ache.
"What you want," he repeated.
"Mmhmm." Her fingers traced along his collarbone. "Instead of just standing there looking like you're going to explode. You could ask me."
"Do you want—" He stopped. Started again. "Can I?—"
"Oh, for fuck's sake."
She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him forward. He kissed her like he'd wanted to for weeks. Since the first moment she'd smiled at him and upended his entire existence. He kissed her like a man drowning, like she was oxygen and salvation and chaos all wrapped in one maddening, freckled package.
Her fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer, closer, like there was still too much space between them. Like she wanted to crawl inside him and make a home there, the same way she'd invaded every other part of his carefully constructed life. And then she made a little sound against his mouth that went straight to his cock, and suddenly there was nothing in the world but the taste of her and the feel of her body against his.
He'd intended to go slowly, but the moment her lips parted and her tongue touched his, his control vanished. He yanked her hips forward until his erection was cradled against the heat between her legs, his hands sliding up her sides to find the bare skin where his shirt had ridden up.
She gasped into his mouth when his thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts, and her hands fisted in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. She tasted like everything he'd been missing his whole life—sweet and wild and utterly uncompromising.
"You drive me crazy," he said against her lips. "You're in my head all the time. I can't stop thinking about you."
"That's generally the idea," she whispered back, then nipped at his bottom lip, making him growl.
He should stop. He should slow down. But she was everywhere—in his arms, on his tongue, her scent filling his lungs until it was all he could breathe. He slid one hand higher, palming her breast through the thin fabric of his shirt, and her head dropped back with a moan that vibrated through him.
"Yes," she whispered, arching into his touch. "More."
He rolled his thumb over the hard peak of her nipple and she shuddered, her hands tightening in his hair. The friction against his cock was driving him insane, her heat seeping through his clothes and teasing him with the promise of more.
Then her stomach growled, loud and embarrassingly audible in the quiet kitchen, and she started laughing—a soft, breathless sound that shook her whole body against his. He managed to step back, creating distance between them with a force of will he didn't know he still possessed.
Her lips were swollen. Her eyes were glazed. His shirt had slipped even further off her shoulder, revealing the upper swell of her breasts, and he had to physically restrain himself from investigating further.
"Well," she said, slightly breathless. "That was..."
"Adequate?"
She laughed again and the sound echoed off the kitchen walls.
"Yeah," she said, grinning up at him. "Adequate."
CHAPTER NINE
Edie's brain had stopped working.
That was the only explanation for why she was still sitting on the counter with magnets scattered around her like confetti, and every nerve ending in her body lit up like a string of Christmas lights, and staring at Tarmek's mouth like she'd never seen lips before.
Good lips,her stunned brain supplied helpfully.Very good lips framed by tusks that had only intensified that kissing thing. The aggressive, dominant, absolutely devastating kissing thing.
She should say something. She was usually good at saying things. Words were her specialty, along with making messes and apparently driving stoic orc athletes to the brink of psychological collapse. But right now, all she could think about was the lingering taste of him and the way his hands were still gripping her waist like he couldn't quite make himself let go.
