Page 116 of Neap & Spring

I kiss her slower this time, less desperate. Taking my time to learn her again and to figure out what makes her gasp and what makes her melt against me. What makes those small sounds catch in her throat.

My hands slide up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, and she shivers. I do it again, more deliberately, and she makes a sound that’s half-laugh, half-moan.

“Ticklish?” I ask against her mouth, unable to help my grin.

“Shut up.”

She kisses me harder, her teeth catching my bottom lip, tugging, and I groan at the sharp sweetness of it.

My hands find the clasp of her bra, and I pause, looking at her, asking permission without words.

She nods, just barely, breath held, and I undo it slowly and slide the straps down her shoulders with deliberate care and let it fall away.

I have to stop and just stare at her once again.

She’s beautiful. She has always been beautiful. I’ve known that since the first day of culinary school when she walked in with her knife roll and her walls already built high. But like this — bare from the waist up, sitting on my prep counter with her hair wild and her lips swollen and her skin flushed pink — she’s devastating.

“Like what you see?” she whispers, and there’s vulnerability underneath the teasing.

“You’re stunning.” The word doesn’t feel like enough. “You’re perfect.”

I lean down and press kisses along her collarbone, across her chest, soaking in the way she responds to different pressures and speeds. She threads her fingers through my hair, holding me there, and the small sounds she makes guide me, telling me what she likes and what she wants more of without needing words.

My thumbs brush just under her breasts, and she arches into the touch, silently begging for more.

“Tell me what you want,” I murmur against her skin.

“You. I want you.” Her fingers dig into my shoulders, and she pulls me closer, eliminating what little space was left between us. Her legs tighten around my waist, pulling me flush against her. Her voice is desperate, filled with urgency. “Please.”

“Be specific.” I kiss along her collarbone, trailing hot kisses upward, making my way back to her lips.

“Callum —” Her breath catches audibly. Her head tips back, exposing the line of her throat. “Please.”

“Please what?” I drag my fingers down her spine, tracing slow circles against her bare skin while I work my way up her neck with my mouth, feeling her pulse jump under my lips.

“Touch me.” The words come out breathless, almost broken. Her hands slide from my shoulders down my chest, nails scraping lightly against my bare skin in a way that makes me hiss.

“I am touching you.” I press my hips forward in one fluid movement, pinning her harder against the counter. She gasps, and I feel it vibrate through both of us.

“You know what I mean.”

I pull back to look at her, and she’s glaring at me, frustrated and wanting and so beautiful it physically hurts.

“Say it properly,” I tease, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth despite the heat coursing through me.

“Touch me properly.” Her voice has an edge to it now, rough with frustration and need. Her legs tighten around my waist again, heels digging into the small of my back. “Stop teasing and just —”

I kiss her to shut her up, and my hands finally move where she wants them, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. She gasps against my mouth, and I swallow the sound.

I can feel her warmth radiating against me, the heat between us escalating with every heartbeat. “Like this?” I ask, my hips pressing against her, teasing her with the promise of what’s to come.

“Yes.” Her back arches, pressing her chest into my hands, and the hunger in her eyes drives me wild. “God, yes.”

Her hands are everywhere now. My shoulders, my back, sliding down to my waist, fingers hooking into my belt loops to pull me closer, demanding and desperate. Her legs are locked around me, and I can feel every line of her body pressed against mine. I can feel the heat of her even through the layers between us, and it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough.

Her hands fist in my hair and she kisses me with desperation, all teeth and tongue and need. Her legs lock tighter around my waist, and she uses the leverage to rock against me, creating friction that makes us both groan.

We should slow down. We should talk about what this means.