Night After Night by Janelle Denison Page B

slipped his hand beneath the hem of her top and headed for the next best thing…the sweet, plump rise of her breast.
    She wasn’t wearing a bra, and when he closed his palm over her warm, pliant flesh and his fingers plucked at her stiff nipple, she shuddered beneath him and squeezed his thigh between her legs. He lifted his head to look down at her, taking in her flushed face, her pink, wet lips, and her heavy-lidded gaze staring up at him with undeniable wanting.
    Unable to help himself, he went back in for another kiss, this one a long, slow, lazy exploration of lips and tongues, adding to the exquisite feel of her breast nestled so perfectly in his hand.
    She unbuttoned his shirt, splayed her palms on his chest, and grazed her thumbs across his rigid nipples, coaxing a rough groan of pleasure from him. As one decadent kiss melted into another and each luxurious caress grew bolder than the last, he lost track of time, not that seconds or minutes mattered when he had such a gorgeous, vibrant woman pressed beneath him.
    A while later her fingers slid into his hair and she tugged his head back, ending their kiss. They were both panting hard, their bodies taut with arousal, and he knew they were right on the verge of taking this make-out session one step further, to the point of no return unless one of them came to their senses.
    “Oh, God,” she said breathlessly, her expression soft and dreamy. “Why can’t you kiss like a Saint Bernard and look like a troll?”
    He chuckled. Not exactly what he was expecting to hear, but as the voice of reason in this runaway train of seduction, her humorous comment worked to bring them both back to reality. “I’m sorry.”
    “Me, too.” She sighed, a languid smile easing up the corners of her well-kissed mouth. “It would make resisting you so much easier.”
    He dipped his head and nuzzled the fragrant curve of her neck. “Who says you have to?” he murmured into her ear, and gave her supple breast another gentle squeeze.
    She shivered, twisted his hair tighter between her fingers, and tugged his head back again. “I do,” she said, genuine regret in her tone as she pulled his hand from beneath her top. “The thing is, I’m not the type of girl who has sex with a guy unless it means something more than scratching an itch.”
    Her confession couldn’t have shocked him more, and made him wonder just how experienced, or inexperienced, she actually was. “Are you…” How did he ask such a question?
    “A virgin?” she finished for him, then laughed. “Lord, no. I love sex; I just don’t do casual sex, even when I know it has the potential of being absolutely mind-blowing. Pathetic, but true.”
    “Ah-h, you’re a good girl.” Grinning, he propped his head in his hand and drew lazy swirls on her bare stomach with the tip of his finger, enjoying the way the muscles in her belly clenched in reaction. “Nothing pathetic about that. In fact, I find it incredibly sexy and refreshing.”
    Her morals said a lot about her character, and oddly enough, her views on sex only made him respect her more. And it kept him from crossing lines he had no business stepping over. Hell, he never should have kissed her in the first place, but it was difficult to regret something that felt and tasted so good.
    She looked relieved. “Then you’re the first. In fact, I’ve been accused of being a tease, so I try not to let things get to the point of no return, if you know what I mean.” Before he could reply, she rushed on to explain. “Don’t get me wrong. I love kissing and touching and fondling, and all the other good stuff that goes with making out with a hot guy like you.”
    He lifted a brow. “The good stuff?” he asked, curious to hear her definition of that phrase.
    Her shoulder lifted in a nonchalant shrug, though the delightful pink coloring rising on her cheeks told him she wasn’t so indifferent to their candid discussion. “You know, the good stuff, ” she said, her