Every Kiss(96)

Suddenly, Wes stands so quickly that I feel as if I’ve taken flight, but I remain wrapped tightly against his taut frame. He continues to kiss me as he walks, nearly bruising my lips with his delicious assault, but he doesn’t go too far. After bumping the light switch with his elbow, he moves back toward the couch, but he stops short, kneeling on the plush rug in the center of the room. Snagging the bottom of my shirt in his fingers, he breaks the kiss to yank it up over my head and fling it across the room. When it lands on a lampshade, I have to stifle a giggle.

“Apparently, I’m not doing a good enough job if you’re laughing,” he half-jokes. The moonlight streaming through the window makes his eyes look like glistening pools of liquid silver. “We don’t have to take this any further.”

I raise one eyebrow at him. “Oh, yeah we do.” Following his lead, I find the hem of his shirt and tug it over his head, not at all surprised that he allows it so willingly. I judge the distance to the lamp where my shirt currently resides, and I launch his shirt to join mine as a joke. But of course, it lands just a few feet from us.

“You’re such a girl,” he laughs.

“Correction . . . I’m a lady. Bite me.” Of course, I didn’t mean literally.

But he takes it that way. “You only have to ask me once.”

Before I can say that I was kidding, his teeth are already scraping down the side of my neck, stopping to nibble gently once he reaches my shoulder, but becoming harder as he works his way across my chest. At the same time, his arms brace me, lowering me onto the rug slowly until I feel the weight of him over me. It feels so good to have him this close that I wrap my legs around him tighter and arch my chest back up to his mouth. But being the tease he is, he backs away slightly, holding all of his weight with one arm and using the other hand to effortlessly unclasp my bra.

“I’d like to shake the hand of the smart bastard that invented these bras that open in the front,” he says, positioning himself back over me.

“Right now? You’re talking about the inventor of bras . . . right now?”

“No,” he smirks. “I’m doing this right now.” And he bends down to catch one of my nipples between his teeth, causing me to moan so loud that I can hear it echo in the kitchen.

The odd combination of sucking and biting has some seriously involuntary gymnastics going on deep in my belly, and I swear that I’m digging my fingernails into his back so hard that they’re bending backward. Good God, this man can do some insane things with his mouth. Just when I’m getting more accustomed to the sensation, he moves to the other one, treating it in the same manner. The sharp biting pleasure of pain has me writhing against him, begging for more . . . or less . . . no, definitely more.

Much more.

Which is what I get when he moves to lie beside me, his hand moving to my waist to flick open the button of my shorts. I begin to protest—although I’m not sure why—but as soon as he latches onto my breast again and his hand slips into my panties, I’m lost all over again. I’m exiled to a carnal darkness that I could live in forever. The scorching heat. The unrelenting sensation. It’s a wicked kind of bliss that I’ve only felt with him.

Yeah, I’ve had sex before. A lot of it, actually. But it’s always seemed more like a routine. Mechanical. Kind of like watching the same movie over and over again. You like the movie, there are a lot of ups and downs, but it’s the same every time you watch it. Even the ending is sweet, but again, it’s always the same. And no matter how much you kid yourself, even the climax itself was quite anticlimactic.

Not with Wes. Hell, he has so many moods that it could be like having sex with a different guy every time. And it’s so much more intense with him. He pushes me out of my comfort zone a little bit and surprises the hell out of me when I like it. I have a feeling there’s not much this man won’t try.

I tilt my head back, my mind completely adrift in a dark void. The more I feel, the more I want to feel. Rubbing my hand down his smooth chest, over every ridge, every valley, down to the top of his shorts. He starts to pull away, but I grab hold of his waistband before he can, slipping just inside the thin fabric before I feel the weight of him. Thick, hot, and satiny soft. Wrapping my fingers around him, I give a firm squeeze before sliding all the way down the length. That one, simple motion causes a chain reaction. His hand moves against me more frantically. His hips lunge forward, and he releases my tender nipple to let out an almost guttural moan.

“Damn it, Callie.” He jerks back, causing my hand to fall away, and he moves away from me, completely ceasing all action. I’m almost hurt by it until he reaches over to grip both sides of my shorts and jerking them down my legs impatiently, taking my panties off in the same manner. “I can’t wait to be inside you any longer. I want to own you, body and soul. I need to make you mine. You’re mine, Callie. Say it.”