Page 57 of Tastes Like Summer

“Jesus, Diana.” When I release it, he cups my face and runs his thumb over my lower lip so gently, it almost distracts me. But then he presses his lips to mine, his tongue diving deep into my mouth.

The sounds coming from him are driving me to within an inch of madness, making it impossible to think straight.

“I can taste the honey on your tongue.” His breathing is ragged as he holds my face between his hands. “I can taste it, and I want more.”

“Yes.” I want it all and I want to give him whatever he wants.

Michael pushes the straps of my top off my shoulders, kissing from one side to the next. Without moving his mouth from my skin, he whispers, “Your scent drives me fucking insane.” He moans against my tits, flicking my nipple before kissing a path to the other side. “It’s what inspired that summer salad—the one you had tonight? The pomegranate and grilled peaches with the sweet honey dressing. It’s how I imagined you’d taste. And now…”

“Yeah?” I breathe, but I honestly can’t focus on anything other than the devastating feeling of emptiness I feel between my legs.

“Yeah.” His voice is rough and wild and I’m in love with it.

Blindly, Michael reaches for the honey wand once more with one hand, while the other pushes my shirt and strapless bra over my breasts, down to my waist. He stands up and drizzles the honey over my chest, focusing on my nipples. “Now I get to try you for myself.”

Michael carefully sets the wand back into the glass container before diving back into me, his tongue lapping up the honey from my tits, lingering playfully on my nipples, teeth tugging.

I can’t help the moan that breaks free from my lips, the way my hands move into his hair to find some grip or purchase in reality. I’m seconds away from exploding in a way I never have before, and it’s mind-bending and confusing and the best thing I’ve experienced in years, if not ever. I feel almost guilty, reveling in this pleasure because it’s for me—just for me—and no one else. It goes against who I am, against the way I live my life every day.

On top of that, I can’t remember the last time I did this with someone else. My sex life with Rodrigo ended years before divorce proceedings were even filed, years before I found out about his girlfriend.

God, what if I suck? What if the sexual chemistry is great now, but when it comes to the actual action, I won’t know what to do anymore? And do I really want to do this with him for the first time on a kitchen counter? Not that it isn’t hot, but maybe he’d like for us to have a better set up?

I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could get my mind to stop racing, praying I can find a way to let myself enjoy this moment.

But I can’t.

As if he were able to read my mind, despite being very clearly occupied, Michael straightens. “Where did you go? Come back to me.” He cups my face in his hands and gives me another drugging kiss, his lips sweet and syrupy.

“I’m…” At a loss for words.

“You’re shaking. Do you want to stop?” His breathing is ragged, his green eyes dark and ravenous, and I know the last thing Michael Haynes wants right now is to stop touching me. But I also know that he would in a second if I asked him to.

My first instinct is to brush it off, but he’s giving me the chance to be honest about what I want and need. So I take a beat and really think about it before responding: “Just… overwhelmed. In a good way.” I pull him down for a peck. “Thanks, though. For checking in.”

“Always. I always want to make sure you’re okay,” he tells me, his eyes more sincere than I’ve ever seen them before.

My heart pirouettes, so I kiss him, sinking into him and this moment, marveling at the speed with which this thing between us seems to be evolving now that we’re letting go.

Suddenly, his shirt is off and he’s kicking off his shoes. His pants and my skirt follow.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” I whisper into his chest.

“We can stop whenever you want, Diana. I can keep going, or we can get dressed, and I can drive you home. Either way, I feel…” He exhales, his gaze on mine. “I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. Knowing you care about me, too…” he says with an awed smile on his face, shaking his head. “Well, I don’t think I could be happier. So if you want to press pause, I’m okay with that. You don’t need to worry about me being a dick and getting upset.”

I place a soft kiss to his lips and pull back to smile at him. “I think I might not be ready for sex just yet. But… other things…”

His grin is wicked, eyes gleaming in delight, and if I were standing, his dimples would have my knees buckling.

“Other things? Yeah, we can do other things.” Michael wiggles his brows, making me roll my eyes. But then he kisses up my neck and puts his lips to my ear as he whispers, “I can make you feel so fucking good with other things.”

I can’t help the whimper that escapes my mouth.

“Would you like that, baby?”

I gasp as he bites my neck, feeling so empty all of a sudden I could cry. “Yes, Chef.”

“Oh, fuck.” He groans and sucks on my neck while his hand skims up my thighs until they reach my underwear. With the back of his fingers, he grazes the delicate lace between my thighs, groaning when he feels the moisture.