Technically, it still was. His tongue danced over hers, and then the fingers that had been teasing her nipple started heading south. She would have held her breath, but Preston’s kiss was deepening—growing more demanding—and she needed all the oxygen she could get.
When his leg slid between hers and his knee pressed up hard between her thighs, she heard herself whimper against his mouth. She could make him stop—she knew he would—but it had been so long since a man had touched her like this and she didn’t want him to stop.
His hand had paused, but she relaxed and maybe even ground herself against the hardness of his knee, though she’d probably deny that later. Encouraged, he kissed her harder and reached down to stroke her through her jeans.
She moaned and would have rested her head back against the wall, but his hand was fisted in her hair and he held her in place as he nipped not-so-gently at her lower lip before soothing it with the light touch of his tongue.
Still just one long, delicious kiss.
The pressure against her clit through her jeans was driving her mad and she squirmed against his hand. She wanted more. But she couldn’t tell him that—couldn’t demand what she wanted—because to talk, she’d have to break off the kiss and then it would be over. Preston was going to follow the rule she’d set for him.
His knee replaced the pressure and a few seconds later, he had undone the button of her jeans and worked the zipper down. Of all the damn days not to have worn leggings, she thought.
Finally, he worked his hand under her jeans, keeping the flimsy fabric of her panties between his fingers and her flesh. His other hand tugged at her hair and his mouth stifled her rough groan.
It didn’t take long. The hard tip of his middle finger stroked her clit, pressing and circling, while his mouth plundered hers and hand tugged at her hair with just the right amount of pressure.
He didn’t stop as the orgasm wracked her body, holding her and tugging at her lip between his teeth. She wanted to slide down the wall—and take him with her—but he held her until the tremors passed.
Then, after one final nip at her lip, he withdrew his hand from her jeans and held her close.
“I’m not sure, but I think you cheated,” she said in a hoarse voice when she’d caught her breath.
“I most certainly didnotcheat. That was one kiss, and now I’m going to bed.” He sighed dramatically and stepped back. “Alone.”
Right now she wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed beside him and see what other tricks Mr. Not-So-Uptight had up his sleeves, but she shook her head as if that could clear the post-orgasm fog.
“Can you give me a T-shirt and basketball shorts or something to sleep in?”
“Do I strike you as the kind of man who owns basketball shorts?”
“Good point.”
“I can find you something. Hold on a second.”
When he walked into the bedroom, Zoe took the opportunity to rest her head against the wall and gather her thoughts. Or try to. They were refusing to be gathered at the moment, and all she could think about was how much she hadnotexpected that from Preston.
Just when she decided he might have forgotten her and passed out on his bed, he returned with a set of thermals that were soft from laundering. They’d be perfect pajamas in a pinch, and tonight definitely qualified as a pinch.
“Thank you,” she said, and when his hands lingered on hers as she took the thermals, she chuckled. “Go to bed now, Preston.”
“You should sleep on the bed and I’ll sleep on the couch. Because I’m a gentleman. Mostly.”
“You’re a tall gentleman, and you’ve also had enough to drink so you might wake up on the couch confused and then stagger to your bed and then all this willpower I’ve burned through tonight will be for nothing.”
“One more kiss?”
Oh hell, yes please.She braced her hand against his chest. “No. Goodnight, Preston.”
But she’d be lying if, once she was curled up in Preston’s cotton thermals and a fleece throw on his couch, she said she didn’t have regrets.
Preston groaned and pulled the quilt over his head to block out the morning sun. Not so much because of a hangover, though his head throbbed enough to ensure he’d be giving Abe’s holiday punch a wide berth from now on.
Because, unless she’d taken off in his car while he was still asleep, Zoe was out there. Maybe asleep on the couch. Maybe drinking coffee at his table. But she was—hopefully—on the other side of the bedroom door and he wasn’t quite ready to face her yet.
He wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that alcohol hadn’t obliterated his memory of their kiss last night. That one long, delicious kiss that had done nothing to alleviate his ache for her.
He wondered what she’d do if he got dressed and walked out into the living room wearing the mistletoe tie.
