day.”
What was hard was not reaching down to cup the lovely, firm breasts that pressed so temptingly against his ribs. He ran his knuckles up the warm, bare skin of her arms and cupped her silky shoulders instead. Then he ducked down and brushed his lips over hers, tasting first her upper lip, then her lower.
He heard her quick intake of breath, saw her eyes go smoky. She lifted her chin, reaching for his kiss with her luscious red mouth.
The microwave beeped.
Will bit back a groan as she slipped out of his arms, pulled his steaming chicken and vegetables out of the microwave and carried it to the table.
They shared the highlights of their day while he polished off his supper, then they snuggled on the couch to watch the ten o’clock news.
Later Will would not be able to say how it started—an innocent brush of skin against skin, a glance, a shared breath. They’d made it through the day’s headlines, when he found himself brushing his lips slowly over her cheek, kissing her temple, nibbling at the whorl of her ear, sucking on her earlobe, the sound of the television a distant buzz.
Her breath came in shudders. Her lips were parted, her eyes closed, her hands clenched into fists in her lap. When her head fell back onto his shoulder, he did what he’d wanted to do all night. He kissed her full on the mouth—and she kissed him back.
It seemed like forever since they’d kissed like this with lips and tongues and teeth, and he found after the first taste that he wanted more. With a groan, he took her beneath him, pressed her back onto the cushions, kissed her harder, deeper.
She arched against him, wrapped her legs around him, moaned into his mouth, a sweet feminine sound that made every muscle in his body tense and sent his mind reeling with urgent, throbbing lust. His cock strained eagerly against his fly, seeking a way out of his pants and into her. He reached down with one hand, grasped her ass, rubbed his clothed erection between her legs, searching for relief.
She whimpered, slipped out from beneath him so that she sat on the floor, holding her hand out at arm’s length as if to ward him off. “W-we have to stop. We can’t!”
The goddamned bet.
Will wanted to point out that they didn’t have to stop, that the best possible thing they could do right now was fuck each other’s brains out, but that would mean wearing pink. He sat up, forced breath into his lungs, bit back a few choice words. “I’ll bet engaged couples kissed a hundred years ago.”
She seemed to consider his words, hugging her arms around herself as if that would stop whatever she was feeling. “I don’t think they kissed like that.”
He leaned toward her, almost touching her. “I bet they touched every way and everywhere they could—as often as they could.”
She scooted backward. “But they stopped. They knew they had to stop.”
“They didn’t all stop.” He dropped to the floor beside her, slipped an arm around her waist to halt her retreat and pressed his lips against the pulse at her throat. “Ever hear the expression ‘shotgun wedding’?”
Her answer was something between a squeak and a moan.
He pressed kisses along the silky skin of her throat. “Besides, we’re just kissing.”
“Kissing…often…leads to…sex.”
“Only if you want it to. I’ll prove it to you.” He licked the sensitive skin just beneath her ear, felt her shiver. Then he caught her hair with his fist, tilted her head back and plundered her mouth, thrusting his tongue deep, nipping and sucking her lips, taking from her mouth what he could not take from her body. He gave her no quarter.
With a muffled cry, she melted against him and met the potency of his kiss with her own ferocious hunger. He knew he was pushing her to the edge because he was being pushed right along with her. He knew he had to stop to make his point, but his body wouldn’t let him. One more stroke of tongue against tongue. One more taste of her lips. One
What was hard was not reaching down to cup the lovely, firm breasts that pressed so temptingly against his ribs. He ran his knuckles up the warm, bare skin of her arms and cupped her silky shoulders instead. Then he ducked down and brushed his lips over hers, tasting first her upper lip, then her lower.
He heard her quick intake of breath, saw her eyes go smoky. She lifted her chin, reaching for his kiss with her luscious red mouth.
The microwave beeped.
Will bit back a groan as she slipped out of his arms, pulled his steaming chicken and vegetables out of the microwave and carried it to the table.
They shared the highlights of their day while he polished off his supper, then they snuggled on the couch to watch the ten o’clock news.
Later Will would not be able to say how it started—an innocent brush of skin against skin, a glance, a shared breath. They’d made it through the day’s headlines, when he found himself brushing his lips slowly over her cheek, kissing her temple, nibbling at the whorl of her ear, sucking on her earlobe, the sound of the television a distant buzz.
Her breath came in shudders. Her lips were parted, her eyes closed, her hands clenched into fists in her lap. When her head fell back onto his shoulder, he did what he’d wanted to do all night. He kissed her full on the mouth—and she kissed him back.
It seemed like forever since they’d kissed like this with lips and tongues and teeth, and he found after the first taste that he wanted more. With a groan, he took her beneath him, pressed her back onto the cushions, kissed her harder, deeper.
She arched against him, wrapped her legs around him, moaned into his mouth, a sweet feminine sound that made every muscle in his body tense and sent his mind reeling with urgent, throbbing lust. His cock strained eagerly against his fly, seeking a way out of his pants and into her. He reached down with one hand, grasped her ass, rubbed his clothed erection between her legs, searching for relief.
She whimpered, slipped out from beneath him so that she sat on the floor, holding her hand out at arm’s length as if to ward him off. “W-we have to stop. We can’t!”
The goddamned bet.
Will wanted to point out that they didn’t have to stop, that the best possible thing they could do right now was fuck each other’s brains out, but that would mean wearing pink. He sat up, forced breath into his lungs, bit back a few choice words. “I’ll bet engaged couples kissed a hundred years ago.”
She seemed to consider his words, hugging her arms around herself as if that would stop whatever she was feeling. “I don’t think they kissed like that.”
He leaned toward her, almost touching her. “I bet they touched every way and everywhere they could—as often as they could.”
She scooted backward. “But they stopped. They knew they had to stop.”
“They didn’t all stop.” He dropped to the floor beside her, slipped an arm around her waist to halt her retreat and pressed his lips against the pulse at her throat. “Ever hear the expression ‘shotgun wedding’?”
Her answer was something between a squeak and a moan.
He pressed kisses along the silky skin of her throat. “Besides, we’re just kissing.”
“Kissing…often…leads to…sex.”
“Only if you want it to. I’ll prove it to you.” He licked the sensitive skin just beneath her ear, felt her shiver. Then he caught her hair with his fist, tilted her head back and plundered her mouth, thrusting his tongue deep, nipping and sucking her lips, taking from her mouth what he could not take from her body. He gave her no quarter.
With a muffled cry, she melted against him and met the potency of his kiss with her own ferocious hunger. He knew he was pushing her to the edge because he was being pushed right along with her. He knew he had to stop to make his point, but his body wouldn’t let him. One more stroke of tongue against tongue. One more taste of her lips. One
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