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“I’m not saying no,” he stepped closer to her, his body so near to hers now that she could feel his warmth close to every part of her, “just to be clear. I want to be sure I understand what’s going on.”
“I’m asking you to kiss me,” she said, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his chambray shirt. “It would make my life a lot easier.”
“Oh, I see,” His chin dipped infinitesimally, and his lips were so close to hers that she was dizzy, “Has it occurred to you that it may not actually fix anything?”
“What?” She tried to think past the tantalizing lushness of his lip, but her common sense had clearly retreated for the evening and left her with the part of herself that was pure id.
“Kissing you. It could just make things worse,” he said, his tone entirely reasonable, as though he were simply explaining the finer points on a line of text. His head dipped again and this time his lips were close to her ear. She could feel his breath on her skin and her fingers convulsed in the fabric of his shirt.
“Things?” she echoed, wondering what he was talking about. What possible logic could there be past those lips on hers?
“Mm. What happens when I kiss you and you kiss me back, Shoshana?” he said, lifting his head. He touched her jaw with his other hand, he was cupping her face, angling it so that she was looking into his eyes. She resisted the urge to turn her attention back to his lips. The tilt of his chin said he knew exactly what she was thinking, and he was highly amused by it. But, she hoped, not entirely immune.
“I--”
“Because I’ve wondered about that,” he said conversationally, even though nothing about this moment was convivial. The air around them fairly pulsed with the pressure. She felt her hair rising with the static electricity that was her own sexual tension.
“You--wondered about that?” She said, her voice thick in her throat. She was barely aware they were still outside. His thumbs were teasing her jaw and her skin was prickling in thousands of goosebumps. She focused as much energy as she could on not shivering in his arms.
“I have,” he said, his tone saying he’d done more than just think about it in an academic sense. “It occurs to me that we may not stop.”
“Oh--”
* * *
--God,she was going to die in his arms.
She wasn’t sure where the thought came from, but she agreed with it with every part of her body. His fingers on her skin felt too good. His breath so close to her ear was addictive.
How soon was too soon to ask a man to pleasure you with his fingers? She figured this had to be a question Google had seen before and considering how close she was to asking it herself, it was probably a question she should find the answer to. To be polite, of course.
“Should we go inside?” he asked, his tone low because they were so close together, and because he seemed to have caught on quickly how she was responding to him and he was responding in kind.
“Not yet,” she said, making a conscious effort to raise her hand. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy. But she watched with something close to fascination as she touched his face. His skin felt like raw silk, he must have shaved almost immediately before he’d arrived at the restaurant.
“Do you still want me to kiss you?” he said, his tone amused again.
She couldn’t find it in herself to rise to the bait. All she could do was lift her head in an approximation of a nod. Because yes, she absolutely wanted him to kiss her.
Now, immediately.
“Really?” he sounded surprised, pleasantly surprised, but surprised, nonetheless. She wondered what he thought she was going to say to a question like that.
No, don’t kiss me, you bastard. Clearly our animal attraction is too much and if we continue in this way we will be arrested for indecent exposure.
Because if he kissed her now, the way his body was threatening to kiss her, she was almost entirely certain she would strip herself naked before his lips finished touching hers.
“I was serious,” she made herself say, proud that she was able to string the sentence together without too much effort.
“If I don’t kiss you, you won’t be able to think about anything else?” he said, and there was definitely something like teasing in his tone.
“Will you?” she said, drawing on some hidden well of defiance, refusing to be the only one in this situation so openly stymied by their own lust. She knew he was responding to her body the way she was responding to his. She could feel it in the way his fingers tensed against her skin.
She could feel it in the insistent pressure she felt against her lower belly as his body crowded against hers.
“No,” he admitted, just before his mouth closed over hers.
Twelve
