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His mouth moves down to my shoulder, to the sliver of exposed skin at the neckline of my shirt. To the hollow behind my ear, where his breath makes me shiver. He finds my mouth, and then our lips meet again, hot and wet and perfect, perfect.
“You like that?” His voice is a growl, a low thrum, explicit as fingers between my legs.
“Yes. ”
“That’s it, then. You like it. I like it. Beginning, middle, end. There’s no finish. This is the whole thing, right now. ”
He’s kissing me again, so I can’t think about whether or not what he said is true. I just wrap my arms around his neck, rake through his hair, outline his ear with my fingertip, and kiss him back. Under the Christmas lights, in our cave. Kisses chasing kisses, hands and mouths.
Everything. Everything.
And then we run out of time. It takes me a second to figure out that the beeping I hear is his phone.
“You set an alarm?”
“Knew I’d never stop otherwise. ”
Reluctantly, he pushes me off his lap and reaches for the phone, silencing it. Then he’s standing, adjusting his belt, lacing up his boots.
When he lifts his head, his eyes are sleepy and sexy, his lips stained, color high in his cheeks. Looking at him does something crazy to me, a wet hot clench between my legs, heat spreading outward, upward. I wish I’d gotten his shirt unbuttoned while I had the chance. Seen more of him. Pressed up against his bare skin.
Next time.
God, I hope there’s a next time.
“You coming to the bakery tonight?” he asks.
“Yeah. ”
“Cool. I’ll be back Tuesday. If you want me back. ”
“Yeah. I do. ”
He retrieves his jacket from the couch and puts it on. When his hand is on the doorknob, he says, “For the record, Caro?”
“Yeah?”
“Hard as a fucking rock. ”
He slips out the door, and I’m still smiling at it like an idiot when Bridget comes back from class.
Tuesday.
Fifty minutes.
Outside, the sky is dark. It’s snowing, blowing icy slush sideways, gray and miserable. I’ve put on Bing Crosby just to make West shake his head and pretend to lament my terrible taste in music.
His hair is cold and damp, his nose freezing when he presses it against mine, but his lips are warm. His smile is warmer. We have this dim room, this bed surrounded by color, our feet intertwined, his body pushing down on me.
We have slow, deep kisses that keep getting deeper.
I ruck up his shirt and follow the gully of his spine up. The muscles of his shoulders flex under my hands. I scoot down. My shirt hikes up. We kiss and kiss, and I find a way to wiggle until my bare stomach is touching his.
Do you feel this? Your skin and mine?
Because I feel it everywhere.
I want it. I want you.
