“I like your voice,” I say thoughtlessly, then cringe immediately, regretting the words as soon as they leave my lips. Heat rushes to my face and I tear my eyes away from his.
“The prickly Diantha likes something?Mamma mia.What a compliment.”
“Oh, hush.”
“No, I’m serious.” He flicks the towel over his shoulder and makes his way to the foot of my bed. He stands between my dangling feet, his eyes tracing over my face. I should roll over, should put more distance between us—but instead, I stare back up at him.
My skin feels hot and flushed. I unbutton my sweater and lift my shoulders to peel the material back. “You’re making me warm.”
His lips part. “I tend to have that effect.” He reaches a hand forward, fingers skimming my collarbone as he dusts back a curl. “Your hair…”
“I know, I need to cut it.”
He clicks his tongue against his teeth, his thumb grazing the side of my neck now. “Don’t you dare.”
My pulse thumps in my throat, growing erratic underneath his touch. I know he feels it; I know he can smell my excitement. I close my eyes and lean my head to the side, and he accepts the invitation. Orfeo strokes the length of my neck with his thumb, coming up to trace the underside of my chin before dragging all of his fingers down the column of my throat, drawing me closer to the edge of the bed. His touch is so gentle, so warm.
“Bellissima,” he whispers, and I feel his breath against my cheek. I blink my eyes open and there he is, so close that if I moved half a centimeter, our lips would meet.
My heart pounds in my chest, hammering against my breasts. I pull in quick, ragged breaths. I don’t move. Orfeo brings his mouth to replace his thumb at the base of my throat, and when his full lips connect with my skin, I suck in a chestful of air. That connection echoes through my entire body.
I feel it everywhere.
He makes a slow, ghostly path up my throat with his lips. Each kiss travels through my body, a spark that burns through me. I spread my legs and lean back as Orfeo’s palms come down to rest on my bed, on either side of me. When his lips reach my chin, he pulls back.
“You,” he says, his voice a rough whisper trapped in the back of his throat, “are magnificent.”
“You…” I reach out and dust my fingers over the faint scar in his eyebrow, the gorgeous definition of his cheekbones, high and wide. His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. “Should have kissed me outside.”
Orfeo wets his lips, slowly. “I was savoring the moment.”
“The moment?” I ask in a breathless whisper.
“The sweet in-between. Not knowing how this,” he rasps, his thumb skimming my bottom lip, “will change my life.”
I brace myself against the wave of longing this motion kicks alive in me. “You know exactly what to say, don’t you?”
“Hey,” he whispers. “I am not so self-interested. I simply say what I feel.”
“Can I do the same?” I whisper back.
“I demand it.”
“The in-between was nice,” I start, “but you should kiss me.”
I meet his hungry gaze.
He nods, weaving his fingers into my hair and cupping the back of my head, but I’m the one who collapses the remaining distance between our bodies, bringing our mouths together. I know my lips meet his with trepidation, but as soon as the heat of him meets my teeth, a soft sound leaves me. Like I just removed a pair of heels after eight hours on my feet. Or like the first sip of a perfect margarita—bursts of salt between bright swatches of sweetness.
His fingers tighten in my curls and he draws me closer, until my breasts are against his chest and my pounding heart echoes between us. His tongue teases me, swiping over my bottom lip, and I surprise myself when I part my lips for him.
Orfeo tastes like heaven. Familiar and bright. Like fresh blackberries and sunshine and long summer days. His lips are plush and soft, and I can’t help but draw his bottom lip between my teeth. This pulls a noise from his chest. A deep, primal noise.
I should stop.Of course I should stop. I have no idea what I’m getting myself into, and clearly my usual, overabundant self-control has vanished.
But whatever fraction of himself he’s giving me right now isn’t enough. I want more.
I fist a handful of his shirt and pull Orfeo forward onto the bed until his knees press into the mattress. I open my thighs to him and he comes willingly. He tightens his hold on my hair, pulling me flush against him, taking control of my body—mymouth, my breath. I make noises I barely recognize. Low moans and hungry pleas. Encouraged, his other hand joins in the tangle of my hair, and he shifts his body underneath mine. His lips migrate, forging a hot, slow path over my jaw, over the delicate skin behind my ear. He hums against my sensitive flesh, and I clench my legs together, pressing myself into his thigh. Pleasure shoots through me. My nipples tighten under my top, and I press harder against him.
