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“That’s better,” I tell her.
“What is?”
“That you’re admiring me and not my brother.”
Her lips curve up. “It made you jealous that I liked his painting?”
“Of course it made me jealous. You’re my girl.”
She sighs. “Kip…”
I put down my whisky, take off my glasses, then turn her so she’s up against the worktop. “Tonight,” I say. I slide my knuckles beneath her chin and lift it so I can look into her eyes. “Tonight, you’re my girl.”
Her lips part, and she gives a small nod.
“Mine,” I murmur, lowering my head so my lips are close to hers. We barely touch, but a tingle runs down my spine.
“Yours,” she whispers. “Tonight. One hundred percent.”
The thought makes my head spin.
We stand there like that for a moment, lips almost—but not quite—touching. Our breaths mingle. Our chests are rising and falling fast, and I know her pulse is racing, the same as mine. But I hold back for a few seconds longer. Jesus, I want her so much it’s making me ache.
I lift both hands to cup her face, brushing my thumbs across her cheeks.
Then, finally, I lower my head and kiss her.
She releases a little sigh as a puff of air against my lips, then opens her mouth to allow me access. I slide my tongue against hers, and she gives a little thrust of her own, entwining them together.
Resting her hands on my chest, she gradually slides them up around my neck. I wrap my arms around her, and we indulge in a long, sensual kiss that sends sparks shooting through me.
Slowly, I slide my hands down over her hips to her thighs, then begin to gather her dress in my fingers. Feeling her lips curve up against mine, I chuckle, but don’t stop, drawing the material up over her body as she lifts her arms. Pulling it over her head, I draped it over one of the barstools, then admire the beauty it has revealed.
She’s wearing a champagne-colored bra and matching underwear, lacy and pretty, but I want her naked. I move my arms around her back, undo the clasp, draw the straps down her arms, and toss the bra over the dress. Then I hook my fingers in the elastic of her underwear, draw it down her legs, let her step out of it, and put it to one side.
I stand back up and move close to her again. She’s blushing a little, unused to being completely naked in a man’s kitchen. Self-consciously, she brings her hands up to cover her breasts. I put my arms around her, holding her, shielding her, for a moment at least, until she’s too aroused to think about it, and she snuggles up against me.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” she murmurs.
I kiss the top of her head. “Okay.”
“I’m on the pill, so… if you don’t want to use a condom, you don’t have to. It’s up to you.”
I lift her chin so she’s looking up at me. “When did you start taking it?”
“A while ago, to regulate my cycle. I didn’t mention it last time because, well, we didn’t know each other, and I know you’re supposed to use condoms for protection against diseases, but we know each other better now. I’ve read it’s supposed to make it more sensitive for you.”
“That’s very thoughtful,” I murmur, my voice husky with desire.
She nudges me. “I’m just saying. It’s up to you.”
“I’m clean,” I tell her. “I’ve never had sex without a condom.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Not even…”
“Not even. Another first with you.” I brush my thumb across her bottom lip. She takes it into her mouth and sucks, looking up at me with her big, innocent, blue eyes.
Oh Jesus, this girl…
