He hadn't even kissed me yet, and my bones were humming a happy tune.
He inched his hands under my T-shirt and, reflexively, I arched my back.
“Mmm,” he groaned lightly, then pressed further between my legs, his hard-on hitting me exactly where I wanted him. My mind spiraled, as I imagined more, so much more. I pictured him unzipping my jeans, tugging them down, sliding into me, and sending me into that zone of bliss I so rarely entered, that forbidden world where lust ruled the day. I could have that with him, and I let myself enjoy a taste as I wrapped my legs around him, hooking my ankles behind his thighs.
“You trapped me,” he teased.
“Good. I like where you are.”
“Me too, Jess. Me too,” he said, as he gripped me tighter and gently rocked his hips against me. A slow, purposeful grind that made me moan, and then rope my arms around his neck. I was operating on desire, pure physical desire, but it’s not as if I was out of control. I was in control, because I wanted him badly. He was a choice I was making in this moment. I didn’t know if we were coming or going, if we were a blip on the radar screen of my life. But it didn’t matter. I wasn’t thinking about my future or how to make us happen beyond the here and now. I was living in my present, and in this span of time–this seemingly meaningless moment on this planet of a billion moments–this was the only one I wanted to live in. William Harrigan might have stepped into my life on a ruse, but there was no doubt that this thing between us was fully real.
I raised my chin, tilting my face to him. “I’m so turned on,” I breathed out, eyes on him, speaking only the truth.
“I hope it’s patently obvious that I am too.”
That elicited a wicked smile as I rocked against him, feeling his erection pressing into me. “Yes. It’s obvious and I like that you’re wearing a billboard.”
He cracked up. “Yep. That’s me. I’ve got a billboard in my pocket.”
Then, feeling daring, I grabbed his hand, and pressed his palm between my thighs, so he could feel–through my clothes–how hot I was for him.
“So do I,” I whispered, and his eyes darkened as he felt me. I returned his hand to my waist as I said, “Now kiss me hard, and make me forget I ever pretended to dislike you because that’s all it ever was–pretending.”
He pumped a fist. “I knew you were checking out my ass from the first time I met you, right?”
I nodded, and I’m sure there was a wicked glint in my eyes. “Now, I’m going to check it out for real,” I said, and he moved in to kiss me, gently touching my cheek with the back of his fingers before he slanted his mouth to mine, his lips brushing lightly against mine at first, then more insistently, as he kissed me harder. I looped my arms around his waist and cupped his fabulously firm ass.
A moan rumbled up through his chest as I touched him, but he never let go. He kept kissing me, the kind of kiss that couldn’t be stopped, that was like a comet across the sky, hellbent on having its way. The kiss was its own lifeforce, powerful and potent, and left nothing but pure heat in its wake. As he kissed deeper and harder, I tap danced my fingers to the top of his jeans, and dipped them into his pants, under the waistband of his underwear, and there, his gorgeous butt was in my hands, his naked skin all mine.
He pressed harder against me, rocking into me, his movements telling me he liked the way I touched him. Then he dropped his hands from my face, and seconds later, they’d found their way up my shirt, and under my bra.
He broke the kiss momentarily. “When you grope me like that, I hope you understand that it leaves no choice but to feel your breasts,” he said, and maybe it was the scientist in me, but I loved that he didn’t say boobs or tits or girls or jugs or anything a thousand times worse or cringe-worthy. They were breasts; plain and simple. But then there was nothing plain or simple about how he touched them, kneading in slow motion with an appreciative groan.
“Damn, I love your breasts,” he said. He pushed up my shirt to my neck and buried his head between them, kissing one, then the other, lavishing a delicious amount of attention on each as he took turns with his mouth, lips, tongue and hands, like he would never deprive one breast of attention for the other. What a gentleman, treating them both with lusty reverence. I let go of my hold on his firm ass to grab the back of his head and keep him buried against my chest. Everything he did to me felt so incredibly good, as if fireworks were having a fiesta inside my body. I wanted to do everything with him right now, but I also wanted to do precisely what we were doing. Devouring each other, and yet holding back too.
Soon, he lifted his head, and his hair was messy and his eyes were hazy.
“You look really hot right now,” I whispered.
“You look really hot all the time.”
I ran the tip of my index finger lightly across the scrape on his forehead. “Your cut is fading,” I said, then pressed my lips gently to the mark on his skin. “I wanted to do that the day I met you,” I whispered.
“I wanted that too.”
We kissed more, and it was the kind of kiss that marked the other side of the mad frenzy. It was the winding down, the after kiss, the I-can’t-stop-kissing-you-even-as-I-adjust-your-shirt-and-you-snap-your-bra-and-we-both-start-to-say-goodbye-to-the-other.
“I know what to enter you as in my phone,” he said, taking out his mobile, tapping something in the screen, then showing it to me.
“Claire Tinsley,” I read with a smile. “So you know this celebrity dog trainer?”