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"I know I pissed you off last night, Sky, but I really want to kiss you again."
The hesitancy in his words amuses me—I bet Dylan Morgan doesn't usually need to ask for permission.
"Really?" I say and bite my lip in a deliberately coy gesture.
His grip on my knee tightens. "Really, because your mouth on mine feels fucking amazing."
"Don't swear at me," I tease, slapping the hand sneaking up my leg.
"You're also fucking funny." He kisses my nose.
Secretly, Dylan's colourful language is a turn on. The swearing reinforces his bad boy image—his ink and the strength in those muscles he could use to hold me down and do bad boy things to me.
Jesus, Sky...
"And you’re unbelievably, fucking sexy." He moves towards me and I brace myself for a suffocating, urgent kiss. Instead, Dylan kisses me softly, his lips barely skimming mine. This is not what I want. I brazenly hold his face and meld his mouth with mine.
Embarrassingly, I tremble the minute he responds and encircles me in his arms. Either he politely ignores this, is used to girls reacting the same way, or thinks I'm cold. I don’t explain. I can’t, because his lips are locked on mine and I don’t want to stop.
He captures my lip between his teeth, tugging gently and elicits an embarrassing groan from low in my throat. I feel him smile against my mouth and nip his lip in response. His lips harden as he presses them against mine, thrusting his tongue into my mouth with a low growl.
There is no mystery to how this man gets girls into his bed. With or without his name, he’d manage to seduce with a kiss, a touch and a blast of that panty-melting sexuality he can’t control. One I doubt he tries to control.
Dylan laughs against my mouth, and then pulls the comforter over our heads, landing us in a shadowed world of sensation. The warmth and scent of him emanates around in the airless space between the comforter and us, drowning my senses.
The heat from our breath and bodies stifles, intensifying the intimacy beneath the comforter as we hide like kids who've made a den from their bedding. Dylan runs his fingers along my lower back, a shiver shooting from the sensitive spot at the base of my spine to my toes. Sliding his hands around to my waist, he pulls me closer, fingers igniting my skin where he touches. We explore each other with the urgency of teenagers, mouths locked together.
Dylan pulls his head away, and places his hand against my cheek. His hooded eyes are dark in the dim world of our hiding place. "Is this part of the snuggling process? I wasn’t aware…"
"I think this is optional," I say and curl a hand around his neck to draw his face to mine again.
"I think this should be compulsory," he says hoarsely.
"Fine, but I can’t breathe." I pull the comforter from over our heads, drawing a huge breath as the cooler air hits. If I remain under there with Dylan, I might never come back out.
Damp hair sticks to my head and Dylan pushes his hand beneath a tendril, twirling the hair around his finger. He looks down, eyes glazed and distant.
"Okay?" I ask.Please don’t stop now…
"This is strange. Good strange, but strange." He nuzzles my neck, hot breath against my sensitive skin.
"Strange?"
"This. Slow. Not all about me." Dylan pushes the comforter away and pulls me onto his lap so I'm straddling him. I look into his darkened eyes, convinced I’ll faint due to hyperventilation. "Restraint—it’s different."
I’m glad one of us has restraint, because now I’m on his lap, Dylan’s arousal is evident. Because of me?Wow.
"You, umm, don’t have to be totally restrained." I close my eyes,stupid croaky voice.
Dylan sighs and tugs the neck of my T-shirt to one side, darting his tongue into the hollow of my neck. I jerk at the intensity—there’re so many places he knows to touch, and Grant never did. Grant had two or three places he zoned in on—the obvious ones.
"I can tell this is okay with you. But tell me when to stop," he says.
We lock gazes. Dylan slides his hand beneath my T-shirt, and strokes along my side until his hands hover below my breasts. He pauses and I shift so his hand brushes the satin fabric of my bra. Dylan smiles, and circles his thumb over my hardened nipple through the material. I rub my lips together, shifting my focus to his parted lips; I need to taste him, lock in all my senses.
As he claims my lips with his, Dylan’s tongue tangles with mine again. Reaching around, he unclasps my bra and touches my freed breast so lightly, the intensity causes me to moan into his mouth.
Dylan pulls away again, and yanks his T-shirt over his head. Omigod. He's unreal. Men in real life don't have perfectly sculpted, muscular bodies.Do not lick him. Do not lick him. I place a hand on his taut chest, brushing his nipple with a finger. He sucks in a breath and cocks an eyebrow at me. "Your turn?"
