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“There.” I put her on her feet, giving her an emphatic look. “Can you still smell it?”
“No.” Her impish grin is adorable, and I feel something in my chest pop.
Seriously. What the hell is happening to me?
The fact that I’ve just made her smile makes me feel like I’ve won the Stanley Cup.
I think my smile is turning goopy as I run my knuckle down her cheek. She looks back at me with her big blue eyes, and my heart starts skipping.
Oh shit. I am in so much fucking trouble.
This woman.
I grin, slowly kissing her, letting my tongue glide along hers like I’ve got all the time in the world. This kiss is different somehow. There’s no frenzied need attached to it. I just want to make her feel better. I might not have the ability to dive deep and find out the cause of her tears, but I can kiss them away, right?
Changing the angle, I enjoy the moan reverberating in her throat. Her fingers thread through the hair at my neckline as we sink further into this kiss, like we’re burying ourselves in a beanbag, ready for hours of comfort.
Comfort.
Women don’t bring me that.
They bring excitement and pleasure.
Comfort is too intimate, but somehow I can’t break out of this. I should be terrified, but my useless brain has gone quiet. Still. Almost like it’s at peace.
She pulls away from my lips, her breath tickling my chin as she murmurs, “How do you always feel so damn good?”
Her voice is wispy and light. I smile against her cheek, kissing my way up to her ear and whispering, “Let me stick stuff in you, baby. Let me make you feel even better.”
She shows me a new laugh. It’s sweet and soft as she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and starts pulling off my shirt.
I help her, throwing the T-shirt over my shoulder as she runs her hands and eyes over my chest and stomach. She’s hungry for it. For me.
So, I do what I do best.
Tucking my hands under her arms, I lift her up onto the kitchen counter.
“Wait. Here?”
“Yeah, baby.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her.
“But what if someone walks in?”
“We’ve got the house to ourselves for a few hours. We can do it on every surface in this place and no one will ever know.”
She giggles, wrapping her legs around me, but I lightly bat them back down.
“Soon,” I whisper against her mouth and start at the top button of her shirt.
She slaps her hand over mine. “And you’re sure we’re home alone?”
“We most definitely are,” I assure her. “We own this castle right now, which means sexy times in the kitchen are on, baby.”
And there’s that giggle again. Damn, I love that sound.
I let it sprinkle over me as I get back to my shirt-unbuttoning routine. I’m taking things so slow that it’s almost painful, and I can tell by the way her chest is heaving that it’s almost torture. Sweet torture.
Kissing each new patch of skin I’m exposing, I work my way down to her belly button, circling it with my tongue before working back up to her bra.
