Heat crawled up my neck.
“Oh.”
He dried his hands slowly, his eyes never leaving me. I was still sitting at his island, full from dinner, warm from wine I hadn’t even drunk, and suddenly very aware of the fact that Hunter Russell had said he wanted me on this counter. Then he walked around the island.
I swallowed. “Hunter.”
“Still want to continue where we left off?” he asked.
My entire body went hot. “You know I do.”
His hands settled on my hips, and he turned me on the stool until I faced him. “Say it anyway.”
My pulse kicked. “I want you.”
His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed serious. “That’s not specific enough.”
I leaned closer, my hands sliding up his chest. “I want your mouth on me.”
His jaw flexed.
“There she is,” he said, voice rough. Then he kissed me.
It started slow. His mouth brushed mine. His hands slid from my hips to my thighs, and he pulled me to the edge of the stool. I gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound like he’d been waiting for it.
“You said counter,” I whispered.
“I did.”
“You’re very literal.”
“Only when it benefits me,” he rasped.
His hands tightened on my thighs, and then he lifted me like I weighed nothing.
I made an undignified sound and grabbed his shoulders. “Hunter.”
“I’ve got you,” he assured. “You wanted dessert.
I laughed, but it broke into a breathless little sound when he set me on the kitchen island. The counter was cool beneath me,and my heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest. His hands moved to my waistband as his fingers hooked into it.
“Tell me if you need me to stop.”
“I won’t,” I grinned.
“Catherine.”
“I know. I’ll tell you.”
Only then did he slide my pants down my legs, slow enough to make my skin prickle. He dropped to his knees, and the sight of him there, between my legs, in his kitchen, looking up at me like I was something he couldn’t wait to taste, made my entire body pulse.
“You’re staring,” he said.
“You’re on your knees,” I said in case he wasn’t aware.
“I am.”
“For me.”
