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A current of arousal quivered up my spine, making my skin tingle and my inner muscles clench. I was turned-on again—and confused and conflicted.
But still.
“I’m sorry, Paige,” he said. “I can’t imagine how uncomfortable you must be. You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to touch you, or ask you to sit for me again. I’ll keep my distance, let you have the run of the house, the studio?—”
“No.” I didn’t want to stop sitting for him, and I sure as hell didn’t want him to keep his distance. I wanted him to pull me closer, run his fingers through my hair, and then kiss me for real. A kiss with intent and the power to turn back the clock and make me forget he’d ever left me.
“Okay then.” His expression shuttered. “I’ll drive you to the airport and get you a first-class ticket home.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said.
He looked deflated. “Tell me what to do here, Paige, and I’ll do it.”
My thoughts were scrambled eggs, piping hot and caution-tape yellow. For the life of me, I couldn’t drum up the words to tell him what I needed, all the things I wanted him to do to me.
Shameful things. Unspeakable things. Nasty, dirty, forbidden things.
Fortunately, some languages are universal.
I untied the sash around my waist and let the robe slide off my shoulders. His gaze dipped to my breasts, the look on his face equal parts apprehension and arousal.
“Paige?”
I reached for him with trembling hands, my fingers closing around the fabric of his shirt. I drew him toward me. He let me pull him down onto the couch. Before I had a chance to overthink what was happening, I swung my leg across his lap and straddled him.
“Kiss me again,” I whispered.
I tipped my face and wetted my mouth and waited.
Chapter Ten
My father stared at me, unblinking, then cupped my face with both hands. He pressed his lips to mine. This wasn’t a chaste kiss, like the one he’d initiated in my bedroom. This was slow and deliberate sensory overload. I melted, letting the robe fall from my arms to pool around my hips.
Tension wound tighter and tighter between my legs. I touched his chest; his heart was rioting like a caged animal. I shivered and he must’ve felt it because within seconds his hands were on me, dispersing their warmth across my goose-prickled skin. Unlike his kiss, his touch was cautious, each caress a question to which my body responded with a resounding yes.
He held my waist, then slid his palms to the small of my back. I whimpered against his mouth, wishing he’d move them lower. He pulled me close, trailing kisses along my jaw. His stubble tickled my cheek. I laughed.
I pushed my breasts against him, and the rumble in his chest rattled my body like a small seismic shift. He drew back to look at me. “I need to know that you want this, Paige. Just say the word and I’ll stop.”
The word he was hinting at was no, and no was the last thing I wanted to say to him. I closed my eyes as he stroked my arms, his touch featherlight.
“I want this,” I said. “You.”
He kissed me, sliding his hands beneath the robe to grip my backside. I rocked against him, gasping when I felt the bulge of his erection against my inner thigh. My father was hard and there was no mistaking the cause. It was me. Not some art model or a remnant from his past on a screen. Me. His little girl.
“My God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered between kisses. “And soft. How are you so fucking soft?”
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d smiled like this, my top and bottom teeth bared, eyelids pinched, vision blurred. His tongue skimmed my bottom lip—another question. I opened my mouth, and he delved inside, drawing a cry from deep in my throat. He tasted like spearmint and black tea. I followed his lead, mimicking each nip and lick. This wasn’t my first French kiss, but I was woefully out of practice.
He tugged his shirt off in one fluid motion and pulled me flush against him, flooding my chest and belly with heat as his cock continued to nudge me through his pants. I wanted to see it, to hold it in my hands, but I couldn’t make myself reach for it. What if I stroked too hard or not hard enough?
I groaned softly as he palmed my breasts, running his thumbs over my nipples. Plumping the soft mound, he took a puckered tip into his warm, wet mouth.
“You have the most delicious nipples,” he said. “I can only imagine how good the rest of you tastes.”
I moaned and clenched my inner muscles at the thought of him putting his mouth on my clit. He pushed my breasts together, gliding his tongue back and forth over my nipples.
My fingers twitched, restless. I weaved them into his hair. He was making me feel amazing, but what the hell was I doing for him? His cock was there, begging to be touched, and I was too damn scared to do anything about it.
