His skin is warm under my lips, and his eyes meet mine.
He doesn't say a word, but he sits up taller until his face is level with mine, his lips inches from mine. My breath hitches. I've avoided being this close to Amos because I can't trust myself.
His lips brush mine—so softly.
I close my eyes. I should pull away. But I don't.
His lips brush my cheek, my earlobe, and then back again. This time when they press against mine, they're more insistent. Hungry.
I kiss him back, and it feels like sweet relief. Weeks of denying myself come flooding out. The house is still around us; theonly light comes from the flickering lamp in the corner. It feels magical and unreal at the same time, and I let myself get carried away in the kiss.
His lips explore mine, and I open myself to him. He brings a rough hand up to glide along my cheek, then cups my face in his palm.
"Alana." He breathes my name, and warm air tickles my cheek.
He doesn't say more than that, but my name on his lips sends a tremor through my body I can no longer ignore. His hand slides to the back of my neck and heat courses through every part of me where he touches, sending shivers down my spine.
Then his hand slides around my waist and under my baggy T-shirt, all the way up my back. I'm not wearing a bra, and the tingle of his fingertips against my bare skin makes me shiver.
The kids are asleep in the other room. I should stop this. And yet I don't want to.
He pushes me back onto the couch, and I sink into the cushions. His kiss becomes more insistent. His hand snakes around my belly, across the skin, and slides up to my breasts.
I gasp as he palms one breast and moans as his hand closes around me.
"Amos..." I pant his name. "We should stop." It comes out breathy. But even as I say it, I arch my chest into his hand.
He strokes my nipple. I practically purr.
"Fuck..."
My hips thrust upward, meeting his hard body, and he kisses me hard.
He needs this as much as I do.
But I can't stop thinking about the kids sleeping in the next room.
"We can't do this. Not here."
He pulls back and stands up. I almost cry out at the loss of his body against mine.
"You're right. We can't do this here."
Disappointment makes my body sag. But a moment later, Amos slides one arm under my legs and the other around my back and tilts me toward his chest. I'm a big girl, but he doesn't falter as he scoops me off the couch and into his arms. I stifle my surprise, not wanting to wake the kids.
"Which one is your bedroom?" he whispers.
"It's the only other door at the end of the hallway."
In a few strides, he pushes the door open and throws me down on the bed. I bounce on my bottom as my hair flies out behind me.
"Don't move." He holds up a finger. "I'm going to take Sam's temperature. Don't move, don't say anything, don't think too much, Alana. We both need this. Okay?"
Then he's gone. I hear him pad into the kid's bedroom, then the beep of the thermometer.
A moment later, he's back.
"Ninety-nine point five." His relief is palpable. "It's going down, and they're fast asleep." He pauses. "But if you tell me you don't want this, I'll leave."
