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“Please.” I curl my leg tighter around him, huff out a breath that he immediately swallows with a kiss. It’s as warm as his hand returning to where it was under my shirt.
I miss the kiss when he speaks again, but his words are warm, too, on my lips: “Tell me what you want. Anything.”
I want him to make love to me.
I want him to show me how good fingers can feel.
But I’m also addicted to the simple power of his clothed body being pressed to mine like it is.
Tentatively, I shift against him, and the same moan escapes both of us. “This—this way?”
“Absolutely.”
His lips tug a kiss off of mine. Another. Then our tongues are together. Then he’s unexpectedly dropping to his back and taking me along, rolling me onto him.
As he swiftly untangles the blanket, my legs automatically fold to straddle him. Then he grasps my hips, and I shudder into a gasp when he grinds up against me.
Oh, God.
“Even better?” he breathes out unsteadily.
“Yes,” I breathe out, too.
“Good.” His hands brush up to give my waist a tender squeeze, and then they’re back around my hips. “I’ve got you, sweetheart, all right?”
Nodding, I cradle his face in my hands.
“You can just relax right where you are.”
I nod again, let out a shaky breath, and lower my mouth onto his.
It’s hard to relax because I’m so twisted up on the inside, but I ease into it more and more as we kiss, as we breathe.
Soon, he’s moving us like wearemaking love.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
And it really is so much better than before.
And…
…ah, God…
…God, I think I’m already starting to feel it.
As if he isn’t kissing me better than I’ve ever been kissed, he’s also hitting the exact right place on me again and again. And it gets better still: he wraps one arm securely around me and the other hand goes beneath my shirt, up my back, down my side, thumb dragging over my ribs. There’s no persuasion in the touch, just affection, and I want more of it. I lift my chest a little and he twitches between my legs, but he takes his time feeling out this new part of me—when his warm hand finally closes on my breast, he both sighs and groans and it’s a good thing his mouth is muffling me, because the whimper of approval that escapes me would be too loud otherwise.
He kisses me more deeply. Holds me with even sweeter possessiveness. Doesn’t stop pulling and pushing us together so intimately.
And then the strongest, deepest burn is starting up in that very spot.
His name blows weakly out of my lungs. My hips stutter uncertainly against his and my fingers flex around his face and then find and grip the pillow and I try to control myself because I don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t want to do it wrong—
“No, don’t hold back,” he urges me in a breathless murmur. “Let it happen. Don’t hold back from me, Liv, I love you.”
With that, I bury my face in his neck, and I fall right apart.
