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His head dips once. “Same.”
“Then this is more than okay, it’s fantastic.”
“Good.”
We shift and he lifts me up slightly, rearranging our bodies so he’s spread out underneath me on the sofa, our legs entwined, and then we’re kissing again, mouths moving in tandem.
I’ve never been so easily manhandled. Not something I would have thought of as a turn-on, but for some reason his strength combined with his attention to my comfort, the way he asked for permission to proceed...
It’s all soincrediblyarousing.
I pull back slightly. His lips are red and swollen from our kisses.
Addicting.
I dip my head and then we’re kissing again.
I want to gorge myself on his lips, his mouth, the glide of our tongues.
This is the best foreplay I’ve had in years.
There’s something so appealing about how he’s this rough-and-tumble mountain man, but under the rugged exterior, he’s sweet. Kind. Understanding. A good listener. And interested in what I have to say, his focus absolute and sincere.
Dammit, that’s hot.
One of his hands stays in my hair, and the other smooths down my back, stopping just above my jeans against my lower back.
I wriggle against him, his length growing and hardening even through all the layers of clothes between our bodies.
I slide my fingers down the front of his shirt, skimming over his flat stomach, keeping one palm pressed on his chest. Shifting to one side, I brush over the insistent bulge in his pants.
His heart stutters under my fingers, his voice going ragged. “Taylor.”
My name passes through his lips on a groan sparking a rush of pure female satisfaction. It’s gratifying, having a giant who could crush me with one arm sprawled under me, relinquishing all control and enjoying the hell out of it.
“Atticus.” My lips feather over his. “I want you.”
Our eyes meet and lock, breath mingling. “I want to touch you first.”
Who am I to turn down a man interested in my pleasure? “You don’t have to threaten me with a good time.” I shift further to lay on my side, lifting up my hips to help him.
Without hesitation, he tugs at the ties around my sweats and slips his hand underneath, encountering the first layer of clothes.
He pauses for a brief second before his fingers slide under the pants, encountering the thermals.
The corner of his mouth twitches. He pushes at the thermals, encountering the final layer I tugged on before braving the storm.
He dips his chin in an attempt to peer between our bodies. “How many layers are you wearing?”
I toss back my head and laugh. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” His voice is laced with humor. “I like it, you’re like a xerophyte.” He’s almost made it through all my clothes, his fingers rubbing over the silky fabric of my underwear.
My body goes nuclear at the delicate pressure, heat blazing through me, setting my nerve endings on fire. “A what?”
“In xerophytes, epidermis is present in a multilayered form. For example, a cactus.” He pushes the many layers down to expose me to his searching fingers, his movements gentle but insistent.
I shift more to help him while trying to find the pieces of my mind that scattered around the room at his touch. “Are you comparing me to a prickly plant?”
