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“Just one.” Her eyes are dark, desperate.
Damn.
She’s so stunning.
So precious.
I walk her backward, kissing her urgently. She kisses me back but, beneath the flaming-hot lust, I sense her hesitance.
It’s the same routine from the night we got married.
We take our clothes off.
I part her thighs.
Slap the headboard back against the wall.
Make the mattress creak in rhythm.
But it’s not the same.
We’re stone-cold sober this time.
It means more this time.
We’re stepping out of hook-up territory and into making love.
And that freaks the hell out of me.
Her forehead rests against mine. "Is it okay to admit that I’m terrified?”
“Get in line.”
Her smile makes my heart pull tight. “Ever since I met you, I’ve been losing control.”
“Sorry.” I caress her cheek.
She chuckles. “It’s… okay. It’s kind of thrilling.”
“Frightening in the best way.”
“Exactly.”
I graze my fingers over her jaw next and grip her chin. In a firm voice, I admit, “You’re important to me. I hope you know that.”
She nuzzles her cheek into the palm of my hand.
I kiss her again. Reaching out gently, I pull her shirt over her head. My hand drags against her soft skin, moving until I’ve got all five fingers pressing tightly into her back. Her sweet sigh falls against my lips.
Kissing her neck down to her chest, I make every touch count.
She’s already trembling by the time I lay her down on the bed and tug at the waistband of her pants. My heart thunders as I pull it down to her thighs, draping the fabric down over her ankles and then kicking it away.
Wrapping one of my hands around her legs, I slide her thighs apart.
Her chest heaves frantically.
She’s nervous.
