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“I’m not looking to be an experience for you, Mitchell. We can be friends but—”
And his lips were back. This time, she met him, thrust for thrust. Parry for parry. Twisting in his arms to get closer, Hope took all she could as she sought more.
He tasted unlike anything she’d had before. Decadent. Rich. Darkly sensuous. Addictive.
Giving in to her own need, she pushed up on her toes and wound her arms around his neck, plunging her fingers into his silken blond hair. The strands were cool, as they had been when she’d done this the first time. That time, he’d stopped her. This time, a low rumble left his throat as he yanked her closer, knotting one hand in her hair and splaying the other along the top of her ass.
Knock, knock!
They both froze. Hope would have sprung away from him, however, as he had her plastered to his chest, she could only pull her mouth off his. When he pivoted to glance at the door, she bolted. Yanking out her hair tie as she went, she had part of her hair covering her face when she answered the door to find Wendy there.
“Hey, came to see if you were coming back down?”
“On my way.” She gestured to her forehead. “Just got new bandages.”
“Great. Let’s go. The guys want to challenge us to poker.” Wendy turned and went toward the stairs.
Teeth sunk into her lower lip, Hope glanced behind her as she walked out the door. Mitchell stood there, in the middle of the room, watching her. His heavy-lidded gaze remained on fire and she felt every single flick of heat. She closed the door and took a deep breath.
Holy shit, I’m in so much trouble.
Chapter Nine
How long he stood there, staring at the door like he could see through it, Mitchell wasn’t sure. But at some point he shook himself free, walked to the bed, and sat down.
Still rattled.
How the fuck hadn’t he known that a kiss could alter his life so much? Dear God, his insides continued to perform as if they were part of Cirque du Soleil. His legs, weak. His heart, pounding harder than it had for his first NBA game and faster than after they’d won the first championship.
He stared down at his palms and flexed his fingers, imagining the brush of her hair against them. What it had been like to grip her hair and hold her still for him to plunder the depths of her mouth. The incredible way her curves molded against his frame, soft and welcoming, yet at the same time firm.
Exhaling, he closed his eyes. Already well aware of how it was sleeping in the same bed with her, now everything was amplified. Her taste was ingrained on his tongue, reminding him in a not-so-subtle way how much more he craved. How much more of her he craved on every level.
Shit!
Mitchell flopped back and laid a forearm over his eyes. He couldn’t forget how it had been having those plump, pillowy lips beneath his. Using his free hand, he readjusted himself and restrained himself from giving in to his need to follow her downstairs.
Hell, they’d been talking about her running, and he knew that was precisely what she’d done. Not that he blamed her. He needed a few minutes to work through this. Not because he had any doubts, no, but because he had to remind himself that he had no right to go downstairs and pick her up only to carry her right back here where he could strip her naked and feast.
Tully said this wasn’t a thing. I can’t beat my chest and demand she submit to me. He quirked his lips. Okay, so he could but he imagined her reaction would not be good.
God, he could go for a conversation with his best friends right about now. Their advice would be nice. Hell, even if they just listened to him as he got it all off his chest.
Rolling over onto his belly, he yelled into the mattress. Meditation. He needed to meditate. Mitchell pushed up with a groan and held himself there for a moment. He didn’t move until his arms began to burn, which took a while, but when they hollered at him, he hopped off the king-sized bed.
It wasn’t perfectly made and as he fixed that, he could only think about messing up the bedding with one Hope Roman. He balled his hands in the quilt he’d finished smoothing out.
Head in the game.
With a curse, he stomped over to his computer and powered it up, slumping down in the chair. Still no internet but he could save his work to his laptop. Drumming his fingers on the tabletop beside him, he waited for the Inicio icon to pop up.
Mitchell lost himself in his game, stopping to save and make sure he had power to continue. When he was down to a quarter left, he shut it down and sat at the table while he tried to figure out the next step for him and Hope.
