“Is this—”
I kissed him before he could finish.
He made a quiet sound against my mouth and kissed me back, slowly, his lips parting with mine. I felt the weight of him shift, the faint pressure of his mouth changing as he adjusted to me. His hand came up, careful and warm against my side. The kiss deepened, and I pressed into it without thinking. He slowed it deliberately, like he was making space for me to keep up.
I broke away and stepped back, both my hands still on his chest.What even wasthat?
“Okay,” I said, more to myself than to him. I rested my forehead against him, my right hand tightening briefly in his T-shirt.
When I looked up, his eyes were dark. Nothing like what I’d seen that afternoon while we’d laughed and joked over drinks.
Fuck.
This man was far from funny.
“Andrea, are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” My words came out raw, any polish smudged away.
His gaze moved from my eyes and down my jaw, then lower.
I turned my face to the side. His breath brushed my skin, a soft inhale just below my ear.
He put his hands on my upper arms and turned me gently, my head still angled away.
The pause in his movements felt intentional.
Please.
A kiss just below my ear, then lower, warm air against myneck. His hand slid to my waist, then tightened—less careful than before.
I felt his teeth graze my collarbone and heard a small, light sound, almost like a groan.Pretty sure that wasme.
His hands moved over me like they meant it now, strong and confident, up my sides, thumbs pressing into my ribs, fingers stopping just beneath my bra. I grabbed his shirt and stepped back, but as I did so, the bed caught my calves, and I fell backward, pulling him on top. He stopped himself before his weight settled over me, the mattress dipping beneath us.
We paused, his face inches from mine.
“Okay?” he said quietly.
His thighs were between mine, bracing against the bed, arms on either side of my shoulders.
“Mmm.” My hands fell back as I released his shirt, landing on the soft cotton of my rumpled duvet. I opened my legs and inhaled… I needed him to kiss me again.
I pulled him down onto me, and his mouth found mine before either of us had fully decided what to do next.What are we even doing?The kiss wasn’t as measured this time—there was something more behind it.
His right hand slid from my waist down over my hip, finding the tangled skirt of my dress, hitched up like it had been planning this all day. He stopped for a second, and I felt him exhale against my mouth. Then his hand slipped lower, his palm grazing the exposed skin of my upper thigh. His fingertips hooked onto the edge of my skirt, and he tugged at the fabric, trying to pull it up.
I lifted my hips without thinking, the movement drawing another sound from his throat as the dress slid upward.
“Andrea, Jesus.”
The kiss broke only long enough for him to murmur my name before his mouth came back to mine.
I grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it up his back toward his neck. In one swift movement, he pulled the entire thing over his head and threw it onto the floor, and I ran my fingers over his shoulders. The skin was smooth and warm, his muscles taut.
How is it he feels even better than helooks?
He rolled to the side and pulled me over him, my legs straddling his hips, pushing my dress up.
