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“I should want you to stop,” he says quietly.
“But do you?”
I move even closer, relieved when he submits with a sigh. Doesn’t he realize how dangerous it was to give in? Once I start, I won’t be able to stop. My fingers press lower, drifting just under the seam of the towel. He tenses, making his hard body feel so magnificent and dangerously off-limits.
“No. I don’t want you to stop,” he says.
“Good, because I don’t want to.”
I don’t know if I could.
I spread my palm over his stomach, fanning out my fingers to claim more of him. My other hand joins it, and soon both are raking over every hard plain and hot inch of his chest. He’s a drug, and the worst kind. One hit doesn’t satisfy the craving, only triggers a desperation for more.
I hook my arms behind his neck and settle against him. My gaze lands on his lips, and I watch as he wets them. So incredibly hot. I need to stoptouching him like this. I should be running in the opposite direction, but I’m cemented to him. Every cell burning hot.
“What about Pierce?” he asks in a low voice.
“What about him?”
“You two broke up?”
“As much as we can break up.”
He doesn’t like my cryptic response and searches my face. “What does that mean?”
“It means, you don’t need to feel guilty about kissing me.”
“Oh, I’m going to kiss you?”
“Yes. You’ll be removing the towel as well.”
“Really?” he asks with a smirk.
I nod.
“And when isthispart happening?”
“Now.”
I pull his head down and explode. His return kiss makes me forget all the reasons this shouldn’t be happening, and when he angles my head to deepen it, I’m lost. My tongue was already seeking his when they collide, and I moan at the long-awaited relief of finally having him. He tastes so good and it’s been too many brutal hours of trying to control myself. I lock my fingers behind his head and walk him toward the couch, sucking, writhing, clawing for everything I couldn’t have until this moment.
This is a mistake.
We need to stop.
I yank the towel away and shove him onto the cushions.
“Are you sure about this?” he says, gazing up at me with gorgeous brown eyes that have haunted me for as long as I can remember.
“So sure,” I say, pulling off my top.
“Shit, Iz. You’re gonna kill me.”
“Am I what you pictured?”
“Perfect? Yes. So perfect.”
No, perfection is anchored between my thighs when I climb on top of him.
