Instead, I stare at her mouth. Her eyes flutter open, those hazel depths swirling with confusion and sudden heat.
I clear my throat, the sound jarring against the stainless steel countertops, and force my hand to drop back to my side. “Sorry.”
She pulls in a shaky breath, her hand tightening around the mug until her knuckles turn white. She stands up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.
“Maybe coming here was a bad idea,” she whispers, more to herself than to me. She looks around the kitchen, wild-eyed, like she’s looking for an exit. “I shouldn’t be here. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Amber.” I keep my voice soft, non-threatening. I don’t want to chase her, but I can’t let her run away either. “I won’t make you stay if you don’t want to. But I like having you here. The kitchen feels less empty with you in it.”
She stops pacing, looking at me with a tortured expression. “I can’t date,” she blurts out, the words rushing out in a tumble. “I can’t do relationships. I can’t… I’m not looking for that. I’m not ready.”
“Okay,” I reply simply.
“Okay?” She blinks, as if she expected me to argue.
“Okay. You don’t have to date me.” I lean back against the counter, crossing my ankles. “We can just be two people eating cinnamon buns and drinking tea. No expectations. No pressure.”
“Fuck.” She runs her hands through her hair, dislodging the messy bun completely. Chestnut waves tumble down around her shoulders, framing her face in a dark halo. She looks frustrated, on the verge of tears or screaming. “That’s the problem.”
“What is?” I ask, watching her closely. She’s vibrating with energy, a live wire looking for a place to ground.
She steps closer, eliminating the distance between us. The scent of her crashes into me—jasmine and rain, but now mixed with something sharper.
Want.
“This,” she breathes, and then she kisses me.
Her lips crash against mine, clumsy and urgent. It’s not a practiced move; it’s a desperate leap. For a split second, I’m too shocked to react. I can feel the tremor in her hands as she grabs my shirt.
Then my brain catches up with the sensation. Soft lips. The taste of cinnamon and sugar. The heat of her body so close to mine.
I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me, and kiss her back. I slide my tongue against hers, tracing the seam of her mouth until she opens for me with a low moan.
It feels incredible. Better than I imagined. She tastes sweet and real, and the way she melts into my grip sends a jolt of desire straight to my groin.
She moans into my mouth, her hands sliding up to circle my waist, clutching the fabric of my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I pull back just enough to cup her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing her cheekbones. Her eyelids are heavy, her lips swollen and wet.
“You’re gorgeous,” I murmur.
She lets out a breathless laugh, her eyes focusing on mine. “Shut up and kiss me again.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I claim her mouth once more, deepening the kiss. My hand leaves her face, trailing down her neck to her shoulder.
I can feel the rapid thrum of her pulse beneath my fingertips. I trace the top of her jeans, my fingers dipping just beneath the waistband.
She shivers, her hips tilting toward me instinctively.
“Tell me what you need, Amber,” I whisper against her lips.
“I don’t know,” she admits, her voice cracking. “I just… I need something.”
“This can just be dessert,” I tell her, letting my hand drift to the button of her jeans. “No strings. Just pleasure. Let me take care of you.”
I lean in, pressing my lips to the sensitive skin just below her ear. She whimpers, her head falling back to give me better access.
“You make the most delicious sounds,” I murmur, grazing the shell of her ear with my teeth. “I want to hear more of them.”
