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She shakes her head.
“Want to see the front bedroom? The bathrooms?”
She shakes her head again and then turns back to face me.
“All right, I’ll see what I have for dinner. I keep a few staples around.”
Already, I’m heading toward the pantry, thinking of what I can cobble together—spaghetti, probably—but Paige shakes her head again.
I’m about to ask her what she wants, but then there’s no need.
The answer is so obvious.
She walks toward me, trembling with nerves. Once she reaches me, her hand touches mine, and she laces our fingers together. Then slowly, gently, she rises up on her tiptoes to kiss me. I let her take the lead, her soft lips only barely touching mine as she works up the courage to lean in more. Our chests brush and I feel her shiver, and then her mouth parts mine and our tongues mingle. It’s still so gentle it makes my chest ache with longing. It’s like we’ve never kissed before, not just each other, but anyone. We’re novices, scared and so preoccupied with every little movement.
She wants to impress me,seduce me, but there’s nothing she has to do for that. I reach my hand up to cup the back of her head, tangling my fingers in her blonde hair. The strands are luscious and soft. My palm rubs against a sensitive spot at the base of her head, and she arches against me.
The fire burning low seems to suddenly flare. I back her up toward the kitchen island before I’m aware we’re even moving. Her hips dig into it, and she moans. I lift her up, break our kiss for only a moment, reposition her head, and then kiss her again.
Everything we have to give is shared here, now.
I seem to be tearing at her, trying to burrow deeper, tongues lapping, lips clashing, teeth biting as we both plead for more.
Her arms wrap around my neck, and I hoist her up onto the counter. This new position works perfectly. My hips align with hers as I drag her right to the edge so that we can feel each other getting worked up.
Words are said and then forgotten.
More.
Cole.
Oh my god.
She’s wearing these shorts—these little tiny shorts—and I hike them up with my hands, smoothing my palms up her thighs, underneath the bunched fabric. The tips of my fingers skim the edge of herpanties, and she bucks her hips, rubbing against me harder, feeding off that delicious friction.
She doesn’t know how good this feels. Just this. Clothes and all.
“Dinner,” I say, trying, I think, one last time, to bring us back down to earth.
But neither of us registers it.
Paige’s hands work ferociously fast unbuttoning my shirt with so little patience, I end up with claw marks down my chest. Fuck.
I kiss her harder, bite her bottom lip, listening to that responding whimper, and then my fingers slide deeper, over her panties, playing with her on top of the silk.
She wants it so badly, I can feel it in the way her legs squeeze my hips tighter, hear it in the little mewls, the gentle cries she doesn’t bother to stifle.
Another heated kiss.
A begged whisper.
“Please.”
And then my fingers brush her beneath her panties, finding her wet and hot.
A curse erupts out of me, a fiery warning of what’s to come.
All my good-boy restraint? It’s gone.
