‘Jesus, Mark …’
‘I’m joking. Who has a bank manager these days?’
I tilt forward to hug him. He rests his head on my shoulder and holds me tight against him. It’s so soothing being wrapped in his strong arms, my face resting against the warm skin of his neck.
‘You give good hugs,’ I mumble, breathing him in.
He smells of clean skin, and the hint of his aftershave feels like summer. I’d recognise his scent with my eyes closed.
‘Well, you can have one whenever you want.’
The low rumble of his voice quickens my pulse. This isn’t nearly enough, and I can’t keep silent any longer.
‘What if I want more than a hug?’
My words hang in the air, and all I can hear is my own heartbeat in my ears. We’ve been dancing around our mutual attraction because acting on it felt so wrong, but, right now, all the reasons for staying away from each other feel illusory or flawed. I hold my breath, waiting for his reaction.
‘Try me.’
I lift my head from the crook of his neck, so I’m eye-to-eye with him, transfixed by the patterns in his irises. They’re like strands of rich honeycomb. He stays completely still, his body language communicating the first move needs to come from me.
Leaning forward, I kiss him lightly on the lips. ‘How’s this?’
He swallows and nods.
I kiss him again, and as though a dam has broken, he kisses me hungrily back.
I’ve tried to forget how good he is at this, but now his mouth is on mine, I realise exactly why it’s been so hard to forget. His tongue playing with mine powers my whole body.
Energy surges through me, and I wrap my legs around his waist, closing the distance between us. He hooks his hands under my knees to stop me sliding off the kitchen counter, then his lips travel down my neck to the edge of my top, and finally, he dips his tongue between my breasts.
I gasp, and he halts abruptly.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks, his voice rough. ‘Do you want to stop?’
‘If we stop, Mark, I’m going to explode.’
‘You and me both,’ he murmurs.
He lifts me up, swings me round and sits me on the table.
He stands back, breathing hard. ‘You’re wearing too many fucking clothes.’
‘It’s funny, you only swear when you’re angry or turned on.’
‘Do I need to specify which one I am now?’
‘I think I can work it out.’
He reaches for the button of my trousers, unzips them, then lifts me off the table long enough so I can yank them off. He pulls my top over my head, and I’m left sitting on the table in just my knickers and bra.
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, and his eyes are molten gold.
‘That bra is something else.’
‘This old thing?’ I trace my fingers around the scalloped edges of black lace shot through with red ribbon. This ‘old thing’ cost ninety quid but, by the look on his face, was worth every penny.
He takes off his shirt, and it’s my turn to marvel at his chest. ‘How do you have this body?’
