Their gaze held until they were a breath away from touchdown. She wasn’t sure who kissed who first, but suddenly they were a tangle of arms and legs, their lips gliding and searching. Her hands fisted in his hair and then, one minute she was in her seat, the next she was in his lap, straddling him, his hands on her ass.
They kissed, and kissed, and kissed some more. His lips were amazing, purposeful and skilled, but unlike the patient and controlled Colin of the night on her back deck, he was all testosterone and raw hunger, as if kissing her were his God-given right.
Being kissed like this, and by him, was a game changer. In his arms she felt safe and desired, as if he saw her and embraced her truth. So she embraced him back, locking her arms around his head and holding him to her, letting him know that she needed him like she needed her next breath.
With a groan he met her halfway, touching and devouring until it looked as if a blanket of tule fog had settled inside the car, creating whiteout conditions with zero visibility.
“We fogged up the windows,” she said.
“I promised you a private moment.”
“You always deliver on your promises.” She said it flirty, but he turned serious.
“I do. Always. Do you, Bianchi?”
Her heart went out to him. It was clear that deep down, beneath his controlled confidence, was the shadow of a man who needed clarification of his worth—the man who still carried the scars that came with abandonment.
“Colin, you are the kind of man who deserves loyalty,” she whispered with a gentle kiss.
He didn’t move, just studied her face. His usually calm and assured eyes looked a bit wild and uncertain, telegraphing how nervous he was about getting played again. How terrified he was of being left behind to put his world back together.
He was as scared of being a disappointment as he was of being disappointed.
“All I care about is your loyalty,” he said.
“You have it.”
This time when he kissed her, it was tender, reverent, as if he were savoring the moment. A hand slid up her back, cradling her head as he continued to melt her heart. His other hand spanned her lower back, moving down, down, down until he reached the curve. With her sitting on his lap, he couldn’t go any farther, so she lifted up, rising on her knees and pressing all the way against him as his hand reached all the way below her ass to hold her in place.
Soon the kissing turned hungrier until they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
“Hell, Teagan,” he moaned. “You want to tell me what you’re thinking? Because you get to set the pace, but I hope this is leading to more than some fogged-up windows.”
Body revved up and ready to blow through to the finish line, she said, “Fogged windows are a good start, but suddenly slow doesn’t work for me.”
“I’m aiming a little higher than good.” His voice sounded thrillingly rough against her neck. She leaned back, giving him better access. “And, if we’re being honest, my body is pushing for a whole lot more than slow tonight.”
“Well, I have a babysitter until midnight.”
He pulled back. “Her curfew is eleven.”
“She said midnight.” She slid down his chest until she was back on his lap. His gaze dropped to her lips, and she knew she had him.
“She didn’t know you were out with me. It’s eleven.” He didn’t sound as if he were going to enforce that particular rule tonight.
“Well, then that gives us”—she looked at her phone—“sixtynine minutes.”
“Please tell me you’re wearing that sexy peach lace bra you wore the other week?”
“You were paying attention.”
“I always pay attention to you.” His hands moved up her thighs, over her hips, around her waist, paying attention to every inch as he slowly slid up the tank top, stopping a scant inch from her bra.
“I was covered in frosting.”
“And you were damn sexy.” Back and forth, back and forth his thumbs went.
“Tick, tock, West. Sixty-five minutes and counting. And remember, I do love me some good foreplay.”
