Page 58

“This?” His finger moves slowly through the slickness again. “Because of me?”

“Yes.”

His gaze returns to mine, and something in his face changes. Not pride exactly. Discovery.

Then his finger moves again.

“Kell.”

“Good?”

“Very.”

He explores with the same concentration he gave Janet’s wooden puzzle, except the puzzle never made me forget how to breathe. His fingertip glides up along my inner lips and brushes just shy of the spot that makes my hips jerk.

He freezes.

“There?”

“Close.” I cover his hand with mine and guide him the last bit. “Here.”

His fingertip touches my clit.

My breath catches, and his attention locks on my face.

“Soft at first,” I tell him. “Around it more than directly on it. You’ll be able to tell when I want more.”

He experiments with a light circle, then changes direction.

“It’s complicated,” he says, sounding thoroughly pleased by the challenge.

“It’s worth learning.”

“I already decided that.”

The answer pleases me. Then his finger passes over exactly the right place.

“There.”

He repeats it.

“Yes. Like that.” The next pass has a little too much pressure.

“A little less.”

He adjusts immediately. The next one is perfect. My hips begin moving with his hand, and Kell watches the response instead of asking another question.

“Kell.”

I kiss him, and his free arm comes around my back as his fingers keep moving beneath my clothes. I’m wedged between six feet plus of enthusiastic Wicker Man and my kitchen counter, one hand gripping his shoulder while his wrist somehow fits beneath the waistband of my still-buttoned pants.

And somehow it’s working.

His fingertip circles again, and my hips try to follow. The counter presses into my lower back. Kell shifts with me. His wrist changes angle. I try to compensate. For several increasingly ridiculous seconds, the two of us attempt to solve a problem that has a perfectly obvious solution.

I break the kiss.

“Okay.”