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Those…? He wants to taste my breasts?
He gently—so gently—ghosts his hands up my hips to my waist.
“I’d let you,” I whisper.
At my words, his hands clamp on to me.
The span of his fingers is so wide his thumbs press into my back on either side of my spine while his fingers dig into my soft, squishy parts.
A section of my brain tries to be embarrassed over how much his fingers press in, but the look in his eyes overrides that embarrassment.
He clearly likes what he feels.
He slides his hands around to my front, spanning over my stomach, pulling me back tightly against his body.Allof his body.
That length that was half-hard when I brushed past him on the plane is… It’s not half-hard. It’s not half anything. And the steel of it presses into my lower back.
Lean in.
I fill my lungs, then twist in Dom’s grip. He loosens his arms just enough to let me spin to face him, and I waste no time throwing my arms around his neck.
He leans down.
I stretch up.
My eyes close.
And our lips meet.
They come together in a frenzy. There is no closed-mouth peck. No sweet kisses to start. None of that.
Our mouths open the moment they connect.
Dom’s tongue sweeps into my mouth,tastingme.
And it’s been so long. It’s been so damn long since I’ve kissed someone. But my body doesn’t need any reminders.
My tongue lashes against his, and I tighten my grip around his neck, pulling him closer.
A sound rumbles from Dominic’s chest into my own, and then he’s dipping.
He grips my ass, then slides his hands lower. He presses my flowy yellow skirt into the crevice where my ass meets my legs, and then he lifts me.
The groan he lets out has nothing to do with hoisting me into the air and everything to do with me automatically wrapping my legs around his waist.
My mouth never leaves his. And as he grips me closer, I scrape my fingers up the back of his head. So much rougher than I was when I first touched him on the plane.
Dom takes a step, then one more, before he spins us in a partial circle.
“Legs,” he pants into my mouth.
I don’t know what he means until he starts to sit. Then I unhook my legs and bend them so I’m kneeling on either side of his lap when he sits on the bench opposite the backpack and jacket.
It doesn’t occur to me to try and hold myself up. I like the feeling of him under me too much, so I let my weight settle on his thighs. But he’s still palming my ass, and Dom must agree that I’m too far away because he pulls me closer.
Against him.
I moan when he drags me up over the bulge in his pants. A large bulge that rubs against my seam. The layers of fabric between us are hardly enough to dull the sensation.
