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“I don’t want to make love, Harris,” she said, her words brutally frank. “Not with you. But I do . . .” She faltered before taking in a deep, fortifying breath and continuing with renewed determination. “I do want to fuck.”
Harris felt the impact of her words like a fist to his solar plexus. The breath left his body in an instant, leaving him dazed and disoriented.
It was only when he started feeling lightheaded that he realized he had stopped breathing completely. He gulped in huge lungsful of air in an attempt to compensate, but it wasn’t doing much to reset his equilibrium. She had wrong-footed him, and she continued to keep him off balance by getting up and crossing the very short distance between them to straddle his lap.
And there went his breath again. He felt like a giddy old lady, his head was spinning so damned much. His body seemed to know what to do with the warm lapful of femininity even while his mind still reeled. His hands dropped to that sweet bottom he’d just been admiring, cupping the soft, curvy mounds in an attempt to keep her steady.
Her arms had wrapped around his neck, her hands were buried in his hair, and her face was within inches of his. His eyes dropped to her mouth, now within kissing—and licking—distance, but he couldn’t bridge that distance, not when this seemed much too good to be true. He kept wondering what the catch was. But while he attempted to examine this wonderful gift from every angle, she lost patience and dropped her closed mouth onto his.
The kiss was chaste, sweet, and completely innocent, and it possessed more seductive power than any other kiss he’d ever experienced.
His mouth opened beneath hers, his lips coaxing hers to do the same. She happily complied, and he groaned as his tongue explored the hot, decadent temptation of her mouth. His hands left her butt and grabbed fistfuls of the thick mass of hair that fell down around her shoulders and tugged her head gently back to allow for greater access to her mouth and her neck.
He grew increasingly hard beneath her softness, and she moaned when she felt him starting to push insistently up against her, returning the favor by happily grinding herself up against him.
“Tell me you have condoms,” she demanded, and he shuddered, hardly able to believe that they were really going to do this.
“Back pocket,” he said curtly, embarrassed by the gravel in his thick voice. He sounded like a caveman. He was an accomplished lover; the overeager, premature boy she had encountered ten years ago had never made a reappearance.
But with her mouth on his, her hands twisted in his hair, and her heat grinding eagerly and urgently against him . . . he found himself precipitously close to coming in his trousers.
Shit!
“Sweetheart,” he muttered, yanking his mouth away from hers. What she lacked in experience, she certainly made up for in enthusiasm. He could tell she wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing, but hell, she was hitting all of his buttons. She pouted when he refused to give her his mouth again, her brows lowering in a sulky glare when it became clear he wanted to say something. “I need you to get off me, Bean.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Ah, sweetheart, I don’t want you to either . . . but I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.”
“How?”
“I can tell you,” he said slowly, before deliberately bringing his hands down from her hair to her breasts, which he cupped through her top, his thumbs finding her nipples with unerring accuracy through the fabric.
“Or I can show you.”
She gasped and twitched, and he groaned. Fuck it, he was going to come if he didn’t get her off his lap immediately.
Fortunately, it become clear that she would rather be shown than told when she leaped off his lap and watched him expectantly, her breath coming in excited gasps. Harris got up slowly, too hard to move without a great deal of care.
“What are you going to show me?” she asked breathlessly, and he grinned.
“You made me miss dessert,” he said, his voice still sounding like rocks being dragged over boulders. “So, I’m going to have to eat something equally sweet as compensation.”
She swayed slightly when his meaning sank in.
“Oh my God, yes, please. I’ve always wanted someone to do that to me.” Her honesty was refreshing and a huge turn-on. He grinned, grabbed her hand, and dragged her into the bedroom.
He had her stripped—gratified to find no bra beneath that top—and on her back in seconds. He stared at her glorious nudity for a moment, while Handel’s “Hallelujah” chorus exploded into song in his head. Thank God for comfortable, slouchy clothing. Easy on and easy off. His jeans were going to take more effort, especially since he had to work around the erection pushing against the button fly. He dragged his T-shirt off, and she made an appreciative sound before her hands reached up to explore his chest.
