Her smile died, and all of her amusement seemed to combust inside her, morphing into the powerful desire for him that was never far from her thoughts. She lost her breath as he leaned over her, then shuddered when he licked the whipped cream off each of her cheeks.
“You taste good,” he whispered.
“That’s not me, it’s the cream, you idiot,” she said, her protest lacking any firmness.
She couldn’t move beneath him although she tried to get her hands free. It was the strangest, most erotic thing that had ever happened to her. She was used to being in control, even on dates. But with Adam, she was helpless . . . helpless to resist even though she should. She should tell him to stop—and he would.
With his weight on her hips, and his hands holding on to hers, she was arched beneath him, and she saw his gaze go to her chest. It sent a rush of hot pleasure surging through her.
And then he kissed her, and she opened her mouth with a groan as he invaded her. Since he still straddled her, she could feel his erection hard against her stomach, and she arched up to feel even more.
“Let me go,” she whispered, as he kissed his way down her throat.
He did immediately. “I shouldn’t have—”
“I didn’t say to stop kissing me!”
She grabbed him and pulled him back down on her. Now she could put her arms around him, her hands deep in his wavy hair as she held him to her.
“God, you smell so good,” he said, taking little nips at the skin down her neck. “Every time I get near you, I think of hot nights on an island somewhere, torchlight in the distance, you and me in the sand.”
“Wow, soldier,” she said with a hoarse chuckle, as the image flooded through her, heating her. “I didn’t know you had such an imagination.” She moaned aloud as he moved down her body, kissing his way to each button of her shirt and undoing them.
“Every time you wear one of these Western shirts,” he said against her stomach, “I think of doing this.” Then he spread the shirt wide. “Pretty underwear, just like you promised.”
Her bra was pink and lacy, but she didn’t wear it for long. Soon he pulled her to the end of the couch and knelt between her thighs. She was naked above the waist, and he was still fully clothed. He stared at her breasts, and when she arched her back, offering them, he went still.
“Are we really doing this?” he asked hoarsely. “Stop me now if you have to, but not later.”
“It’s just sex,” was her answer. “We’re not getting all serious, and no one is going to find out. Can you live with that, soldier?”
He put his hands on her bare waist, and she swayed forward, until the tips of her breasts brushed his t-shirt.
He groaned. “I can live with it. Can you?”
“I’m the one with my clothes half-off.” She pulled his t-shirt up over his head and admired the curve of his muscles, the scattering of light brown hair, the flat of his stomach with the sexy ripple of abs leading down into the waistband of his jeans.
They came together, hot skin to hot skin, and kissed with long and deliberate intent. She wasn’t going to change her mind. She locked her legs about his hips and rubbed herself against him. When he bent her over the arm of the couch, she felt deliciously abandoned. The first kiss on her nipple made her cry out, and he took it at a slow pace, teasing her until she was squirming, until at last he opened his mouth on her breast and took much of it inside.
She moaned his name. Never had she felt this hot for a man. She didn’t know if it was because he seemed so forbidden to her, or she attached no meaning to their relationship, so therefore no pressure. Whatever it was, it made her feel free to enjoy herself without thinking, without judging, things she didn’t often do.
He kissed his way down her stomach, unbuttoning her jeans. His mouth followed the zipper’s slow retreat, his tongue darting in to tease her to even greater heights of desire. He paused with her jeans caught around her thighs to taste her, and she couldn’t take it anymore.
She shoved him onto his back beside her, and let her jeans and thong fall to the floor. She leaned over him, reveling in the passion that made his half-closed eyes smolder. “Off with your jeans, soldier.”
He shrugged out of them easily. She saw the scars crisscrossing his right thigh, a few puckered and still red, others beginning to fade. And now she knew why he occasionally limped. She didn’t remark on them, knew he wouldn’t appreciate it.
He swung her into his arms, and she gasped and clutched his shoulders.
“Put me down! You’ll hurt yourself.”
“The day I can’t carry a woman to my bed . . .” he murmured.