I don’t give myself another moment to second-guess it. As I close the distance between us, my breath dances across his skin first. Then, my lips cover the tiny paper airplane. It’s a slow and lingering kiss. I savor it, not knowing how he’ll react.
Instead of pulling back when my lips finally lift from his skin, I hover and wait for his reaction. I commit the tension to memory, letting it swarm around us until my spine tingles and the beat of my heart increases to a rapid speed.
“Did . . . you just kiss my tattoo?”
When I close my eyes and press my lips together instead of answering, his hand slowly finds its way to my hip. I suck in a silent, quick breath at the feel of his grip, and he pushes me a few inches back until I’m sitting straight up and looking into his eyes.
Pushing me away wasn’t exactly what I was going for, but . . .
There’s no use in denying what I just did or acting aloof. I kissed his skin like we’ve known each other for a whole lot longer than a few days. When I look up to meet his gaze, his cocked eyebrow is enough to remind me I haven’t answered his question that we both already know the answer to.
“Yes, I did.” It comes out as nothing more than a whisper, and I immediately search his face for a readable reaction.
I could apologize for overstepping. Maybe suggest we forget about it or pretend it didn’t happen. But I don’twantto do that. Is that what he would want me to say?
Before I can overthink any further about what should happen next, my chest fills with butterflies as a smirk finally lifts a corner of his mouth. It’s not the type of smile that appears out of simple amusement. It’s slow and sexy. I stay locked onto his gaze, waiting for him to say something. There’s heat in his slightly narrowed eyes . . . the same ones I’ve been lost in since the moment I saw them.
It’s obvious now that he doesn’t hate the fact that my lips just kissed his skin. But I’m not sure I can wait much longer for him to make a move. I mirror his expression and decide to throw caution to the wind, looking down and tracing the top of his thigh where I know there are more tattoos that I haven’t had the chance to examine yet.
“Can I kiss the rest of them?”
The fingers that are still wrapped around my hip dig in deeper, pulling me toward him this time instead of pushing me away. I wasn’t expecting it, so my upper body lurches forward, slamming into his chest and somehow halting the momentum of my face just before it collides with his.
We share a minute’s worth of breaths. Eyes searching. Hands roaming.
“Are you going to say anything?” I ask softly.
“I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t want to know what’s on my mind.”
My hands slide up each of his biceps, landing on his round shoulders. “Yes, I do.”
Ireallyfucking do.
His jaw ticks again, and he hesitates. Opening his mouth, stopping himself, and closing it again. He may not be generous with his words at the moment, or ever honestly, but his touch . . . the sight of him . . . I try clenching my thighs together every time his thumb rubs a circle on my hip bone. He’s still standingbetween them, so the result is me squeezing a death grip around his hips. My body presses closer to his every time his tongue darts out to pull his bottom lip in his mouth.
“What I’m thinking—” he starts, tilting his head and leaning in to brush his lips against the side of my neck. I inhale sharply and slam my eyes shut, nearly falling over from the shock of lightning in my veins with his mouth finally on my skin. “Is that there are no limits to what I’d do to feel your mouth on me again.”
“Kiss me, then,” I whisper. “I want you to kiss me so fucking?—”
He raises his head, wraps a hand around my lower back, and brings our lips together before I can even finish my sentence.
I thought first kisses were supposed to be tender and sweet. This one is urgent and smoldering with need. Ledger kisses like it might be his last day on earth, and I drink in every intense movement of his mouth against mine.
My hand near his belt dips underneath his shirt, barely inching up his bare skin, fingers digging in so deeply I’m sure it’ll leave a mark.
His head tilts as his mouth opens, inviting me inside. My tongue dances with his as I press harder against his mouth, stealing every breath that he’s willing to give.
When his hands drop below my waist and squeeze, pulling me even closer to him, it coaxes a response out of me that I wouldn’t be able to stop even if I tried. I moan against his mouth and push my hips forward, searching for some sort of friction.
If he were to say he wasn’t as affected by this kiss as I am, I’d call him a liar. And the hard-on trying to break through the front of his jeans would too. Knowing he’s turned on makes the need for more even stronger, and I shamelessly rock my hips into his while tracing his upper lip with my tongue.
He’s out of breath when he pulls away enough to look down.
Don’t stop!I want to squeal.
