“Oh.”
He lifted his hand and cupped her face, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone. “And they’re soft. So fucking soft.”
She tried to inhale, but her breath got caught, and her thoughts got tangled in it and tripped. They hadn’t even made it to the dirty bits yet. She had a word cloud in her head composed of boldfaced declarations—nipples and cock and wet—plus a lot of smaller ones like touch and suck and lick and kiss. Words she couldn’t ever say aloud, but there they were. Occupying sexual space in her brain.
She couldn’t stop staring at his mouth. It was way too good a mouth for a guy to have. When he wasn’t scowling, his lips looked soft and red, the furrow beneath his nose deeply grooved, his top lip arched in a way that would have been pretty on a girl.
His head kept getting closer, and when she dared to look at his eyes, he’d turned into the snake charmer, and she’d become the snake.
“Do you want to hear more?”
She shook her head and said, “Yes.”
Then she tried again, nodding as she said, “No.”
The lips found that amusing. “I’m not sure you’re ready for my dirty thoughts. You can keep your rain check.” His head dipped. “But I’m collecting on that other one.”
His mouth met hers at a whisper. He’d said she was soft, but she wasn’t the one who could kiss like this. Like light, like air—important in some invisible, vital way to her well-being. His nearness and heat sent her into a state of heightened anticipation, a cellular excitement that wasn’t quite pleasure but was certainly pleasurable in the same way that lying awake waiting for Christmas to arrive had been when she was a child, or sitting in the front car of a roller coaster, poised just before the drop.
She closed her eyes and breathed him in. When she opened them, he was bathed in light. The golden tips of his eyelashes. The red-gold strands in his dark hair. Some accidental marriage of sunbeam and angle.
This is our first kiss, she realized, and then his hand slid down her neck. Over her shoulder. He skimmed his palm along her breast and muttered, “So soft.” Suddenly there was more pressure. More heat. His hand clamped down at her waist, gentle and firm at the same time. His mouth angled over hers, hot and urgent, so necessary that she moaned.
Ben smiled with his eyes, and then he dipped his head and licked her bottom lip. He sucked it into his mouth. Bit it. He bit her. She was still trying to decide whether she’d liked it or not when she realized she’d more or less crawled onto his lap, her thigh splayed across his legs, her whole torso draped against him like a blanket. He was leaning back, bracing himself against the concrete on one hand to combat her assault.
Ease up, there, tiger, she thought, and backed away, but when she did he came after her, gripped her by the hips, and pulled her the rest of the way to straddling him. His hands covered her ass, his tongue stroking into her mouth as he settled hot between her legs.
Oh God, that felt good. The pulse of heat hit her so fast, so much, she thought it might have shorted something out, because she lost the ability to speak or breathe for a second. If she could breathe, she might have said something, like his name, or Holy hell, but all she could do was make a kind of moaning mmpfh noise, which made him grunt and tug her closer.
It wasn’t a refined kiss. It was messy and needy and so, so hot. The slippery moisture between her thighs seemed to be connected to the movements of his tongue in her mouth, his cock a solid zone of heat pressing into the seam of her jeans, his hands roaming all over her back, her hips and thighs, her butt. She rocked against him, breathed too hard, moaned and held his head in her grip, a tight lock in his frustratingly short hair because she couldn’t stand the thought of not doing this.
His palm slipped beneath her sweater, seeking bare skin, but her camisole top was tight and stretchy, and he couldn’t seem to figure it out. He gave up and cupped her breast through three layers of material, rubbing his thumb over her nipple.
May tore her mouth away to gasp.
“You like that, huh?” He seemed to be addressing the question to her cleavage, which he investigated with his mouth, planting a string of kisses down to the scooped neckline of her sweater.
He thumbed her nipple again, and she ground her hips against him, shamelessly needy.
“I want my mouth right there,” he said, pressing with his thumb.
She wanted that, too. His mouth on her everywhere, all at once. When he pushed her sweater down, his lips found a path across the top of her breast and down, down, moving her camisole aside, shoving the cup of her bra out of the way to reach her nipple. She didn’t even consider stopping him. She closed her eyes and floated away at the light pressure of his lips, the hot, wet trail of his tongue, until he sucked her nipple into his mouth and the shock of it brought her voice back.