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The air went thick between us in the silence. Brit and I were always honest with each other—I thought—but this was different. When our gazes met, it was a moment more naked than if we’d both had our clothes off. A moment more naked than I’d ever had with women I’d actually been naked with.
We didn’t know everything about each other. Brit had her secrets, but I knew enough. I could fill in some of the blank spots and shadowy pieces she hadn’t revealed to me. I knew that a year ago I’d been lonely and still adrift, and she’d most likely been with the guy who treated her so badly she didn’t like to talk about it.
And tonight we were here, with the damp, chill wind outside and the warmth of this kitchen. All I could see was the smooth curve of her throat, her soft mouth, the dark charcoal of her lashes as she looked at me. She’d dropped the sarcastic tone in her voice and the half-cynical expression she wore to make people keep their distance. She looked fucking beautiful, and I gave up all logical thought as I took a step closer to her, then another.
She smelled good—not flowery or perfumy, but good. She didn’t tense as I came closer, didn’t move away, didn’t give me a signal to back up. Instead, her cheeks flushed again and her eyes went dark and hot, her gaze traveling over my face and down my throat just like my gaze had traveled over her.
I braced against the counter with one hand on either side of her. I was boxing her in without touching her, yet close enough that I could feel her warmth. If Brit made the slightest move, her body would be pressed against mine.
She dropped her arms.
“There it is again,” I said softly.
“What?” she asked, her voice a breath.
“This look.” I lifted a hand and brushed the tip of my thumb over her cheekbone, a feather-light touch, before bracing against the counter again. “You’ve been giving me this look all night.”
She inhaled when I touched her, her breath sounding shaky on her exhale. “You weren’t supposed to notice.”
I leaned in, so close that my mouth hovered just above the skin of her neck, below her ear. “I noticed,” I told her. “I notice everything about you.”
What was I doing? I hadn’t come here tonight planning to make a move. I only knew that I needed to be closer to her, to know the exact scent of this spot right below her ear—the scent of shampoo and Brit’s skin, fragrant sweat from her day at work, the essence of this particular woman. There were things she needed to know—most importantly, that I didn’t give a fuck what anyone else’s opinion of her was. I only cared about how I saw her, and how she saw herself, and I didn’t want her to feel doubt around me.
Brit drew in another harsh breath, and I could have sworn I sensed her heartbeat speeding up, her pulse rising. For a second I thought she might argue, might try to be the rational one, but then her shoulders softened and she said, “I feel different around you tonight. I can’t explain it. I can’t stop looking at you. Just…looking.”
Those words made something complicated happen in my chest, a jolt of excitement like I hadn’t felt in a long time. “So what do you want?” I asked her, my lips still hovering just above her sensitive skin. “Tell me what it is, and I’ll do it. Anything at all.”
“Like what?” Brit asked, excitement in her voice.
Fuck, I liked this. I liked seeing her let her guard down, open up, chase the feeling of what she wanted. I liked the thought of Brit wild, pulled out of her own spinning thoughts and into the place she was now. I wanted to keep her here for a while.
“Do you want me to strip?” I asked, enjoying her shocked breath at my words. “I’ll be happy to. I can give you a show.”
“Oh,” Brit murmured.
“I can touch you if you want,” I continued. “Tell me where to put my hands, what kind of touch you want. I’ll do anything you say.” When she made a strangled sound, I brushed my lips against her skin, barely a kiss, just enough that she could feel it. When I pulled away, I licked my lip, unable to stop myself from tasting her on me. “My mouth is all yours,” I said. “What would you like? I can do filthy, or I can do sweet. Or I can keep saying dirty things in your ear. What do you say, Brit? Be honest. What do you want?”
She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she turned her face toward me. For a second, our breaths mingled. Then she kissed me.
I leaned into it, giving back everything she gave to me. I was entirely attuned to Brit in that moment, reading her signals, the small movements of her body, the pressure of her lips. Every thought in my head was about whether she wanted more, and how much, whether she was asking me to take the lead or whether she wanted me to follow. This kiss was the most important exam I’d ever taken, one I’d been studying for, and failure was not an option.
Her lips parted and I followed her lead, giving her a light touch of my tongue. I had kept my hands on the counter, because she didn’t want to be groped or dominated. Still, when she made an animalistic sound in her throat, I couldn’t help but lift my hands to cradle her jaw so I could deepen the kiss just the right way to make it good. I kept my touch light as I gave her a delicious mix of sensations. In response, her hands dropped and fisted in my T-shirt, twisting the material in her grip.
My body was raging, but I didn’t push. Instead, I just kissed her—deeply, fully, with her hands twisted in my shirt and her breasts against my chest in the most delicious touch. I felt her breath and the racing pulse in her neck beneath my fingertips. She was warm and soft, and it had been so fucking long since I’d felt anything even close to this with a woman—raw and honest and physical in a way that wasn’t exactly sex, but somehow it was. Our bodies were having a conversation, and even if we never actually fucked—which would be tragic—I would always feel like somehow we had.
This was good. It was right. It was—
Brit broke the kiss and pushed me away, breathing hard.
I dropped my hands. “What?” I asked her. “What is it?”
Her eyes were wide, and she put her hands to her cheeks, then over her mouth, as if she were horrified—with me or with herself, I couldn’t tell.
“I can’t,” she breathed through her fingers.
“Okay,” I said. “Why not? Did I do something wrong?”
Brit’s fingers pressed into her skin, her fingertips going white. “I can’t,” she repeated. “I just can’t.”
