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Not enough,I think even as I tilt my mouth toward hers and slide my hand around into her hair.
“I need you to say it to me, love.”
The mere breath she draws tells me that hits her with the same significance I was feeling before.
Her tone is full of it when she says, “No, there’s no part of me that isn’t ready for this with you.”
I exhale slowly, reassured.
So does she.
Her shirt is already mostly up, so I take hold of it and tug. She lets go of me so I can take the thing off. Before I can get much of a look at her, she’s pulling my shirt up and off, too, but then we can stop and look andtouch—we go for it at the same time.
She sucks in a soft breath as my hands find her breasts, and so do I, but as good as it feels to explore and be explored, we still need to be closer. Eager hands fumble until our bare chests are pressed together. Our breaths catch again, and then we’re mouth to mouth, too.
Kissing better.
Kissing hotter.
She holds me tightly and her leg goes around me, and I hold her tightly in return and move her against me in that way I know she loves, the way that gets a shiver out of her every time. Hell, it makes me shiver, too. I approve of her taking her leg right back, though, because I promptly feel her reach for her pajama pants. I end our kiss so I can help, and as soon as the pants are gone, we get her on top of me.
As she settles there, I take my chance to file this memory away.
The striking look of love and desire those eyes are giving me.
The way her long hair is falling over one shoulder and onto the pillow under my head, forming a soft curtain between us and where the rainy daylight is filtering into the room.
How we look wearing only underwear beneath the slightly tangled blanket.
“You are spectacular,” I say throatily as I skim my hands up her thighs.
I can tell she’s been filing away her own images of me. She finishes with a stroke of her hand through my hair, and then she murmurs, “You’re stunning.”
They’re the last words to pass between us for the next few minutes.
Our bodies speak for themselves through our breathtaking kisses and restless hips and wandering palms and fingers tugging at clothes.
But then we’re naked, and I have to ask her how she wants me. She tells me and I grab protection from the nightstand and she fixes the pillows against the headboard and I sit up against them and she straddles me and we’realmost—
Her face in my hands. Her fingers around my biceps. Her adoring eyes connected to mine.
She whispers, “We love each other,” and she almost sounds awestruck.
Thatisfucking awesome.
I nod and whisper back in kind, “Yeah, we do.”
Those eyes of hers drop to my lips before her own lips do.
The kiss ends quickly, though, because the way it feels to be taken into her is curse-worthy.
It’s torturously slow—her hands squeeze my arms and mine drop to her hips and when she stops, we breathe together for one short, unbearable moment…and then it really starts and, yes,God, yes, that’s better.This is how we needed to be.
“Oh, Liv-Andria,” I breathe against her jaw. “Oh, you’re fucking incredible on me.”
She nods ardently, clutches my shoulders and then my face before she kisses me again. “You feel—” she gasps as I press my fingertips up her back, press all of her harder against all of me, “—you….”
I know what she’s trying to say. Her body says it for her: I feel incredible to her, too.
