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“You,” he finished with such deliberate clarity my heart clanged as if in recognition.
He began to dip his head down toward mine before he straightened. His gaze was entirely serious. “If you want to stop at any point, just say so.”
My heart tightened. I knew he meant it. I trusted him completely.
I swallowed as I nodded. “The same goes for you,” I whispered.
“I’m not going to want to stop,” he said flatly.
The quiet stretched just long enough that I thought I might buckle under the pressure of waiting, of wondering, with the need to kiss him rushing through me so fast I could hardly breathe for it.
Finally,finally, he shifted closer, erasing the incremental space between us. I arched up to meet him as he lowered his head. His lips brushed over mine once and then again, before he dropped a kiss at one corner of my mouth and then the other.
I felt liquid inside, made of pure need and desire. After another lingering kiss, he fit his mouth over mine and took command.
His tongue glided against mine, sensually teasing me and blowing past any last barriers left. I got lost in our kiss. He alternated between deep, commanding sweeps of his tongue and dallying with my mouth. He nipped at my bottom lip, dropped lazy kisses on the corners before diving in yet again to take over.
By the time he lifted his head, I was grateful for the wall behind me. Without that and him holding me up, I would’ve simply melted to the floor.
I took several shaky breaths as we stared at each other. Everything felt suspended, as if it was just us, alone in the whole wide world, caught at this moment. We finally gave in to the living, breathing force of our desire.
We were plastered together, and I could feel the beat of his heart against mine. His eyes fell closed, and he took a deep breath. When they opened again, he brushed my hair back from my cheeks, one hand sliding down my neck to curve over my shoulder.
“I like your shirt,” he murmured, a hint of mirth in his voice.
“It’s my favorite comfy shirt.” I lifted my chin.
I’d worn a fuzzy fleece top with an owl, of all things, on the front. Kenan had actually gotten it for me as a gift. We’d watchedSchitt’s Creek, and I’d nearly peed laughing at the owl shirt that Jocelyn wore for her day at David and Patrick’s store.
“I’m a good shopper,” he teased.
“I know you are.”
“Much as I like it, it’s gotta go,” he said, his voice turning serious as his eyes darkened.
My belly swooped, and my pulse raced. A moment later, the owl sweatshirt was on the floor, and we were yanking at each other’s clothes. I suppose I should’ve known it would be like this once we finally gave in. We couldn’t get naked fast enough. Maybe later—and it said something that I thought there would be a later—we could savor each other, but not now.
At this moment, it was just a rush to feelallof each other.
A few fiery-hot minutes later, Kenan stretched out beside me on the narrow lower bunk. His palm coasted over my belly, the calloused surface sending sparks skittering over my skin. I felt molten. Hot need rushed through me with such intensity, I felt consumed by it.
This was a new feeling for me. I’d never gotten lost in any man’s eyes, never gotten lost in the sensation. As much as a part of me found it easier to scoff and dismiss my past encounters as guys who were too rushed and uncaring to elicit such feelings inside me, I also knew I tended to be guarded for whatever reason.
Even though it was slightly terrifying on a level that Kenan kicked those guards away with such ease, I felt it was raw in a way I’d never fathomed. It felt good, so very,verygood.
“Quinn,” Kenan whispered huskily.
I met his eyes, my breath coming in shallow heaves.
“I want you.” I felt his words on my lips before he moved on from my mouth, making love to a sweet spot behind my ear that had shivers racing through my body and whimpers coming from my throat.
He teased my breasts, and my nipples literally ached by the time I felt him dropping hot kisses over my belly. One of his palms slid down over my hip and onto my thigh to push my knee to the side.
I trembled, moaning, whimpering, a very needy woman. He kissed the ultra-sensitive skin on the inside of my thigh just before I felt his fingers slide through my folds. I was dripping wet and swollen, and I didn’t even care that it was so obvious that he had turned me into a quivering mess of want and desire.
“Oh, Quinn, sweetheart,” he whispered against my belly.
Another finger joined the first, sinking into me. My hips rocked into his touch. His mouth was on my sex, and he drove me beyond all reason, all thought. With his fingers skillfully teasing me and his lips and tongue exploring my folds with nothing more than glancing touches over my swollen clit, he reduced me to begging.
