But still.
Thatlook.
My lips part slightly, but he’s in no hurry, gently pressing feather-light kisses on my mouth, like we have all the time in the world.
And I guess we do.
I snuggle closer, and he uses one of his hands to cup the back of my neck, drawing me in. He nuzzles my nose for a moment and then moves back to my mouth, sucking my lower lip between his.
Why does it feel so good?
“You’re sweet, angel,” he murmurs, continuing to nibble and suck on my lips.
No one’s ever kissed me quite like this and I’m immediately swept up. There’s something addictive about West McGregor, and I wind my arms around his neck. He shifts our positions so I’m on his lap and—sweet Jesus. The erection pressed against my hip is…impressive. I’m not a woman who’s ever been particularly concerned about how big a man’s penis is, but somehow I knew West would be large all over.
And my arousal shifts into overdrive.
My mouth opens for his as he slides his tongue against mine, using the tip to tease me. A whimper of protest escapes me and I feel his chuckle before he deepens the kiss and…does exactly what he’d promised: he ravishes my mouth. His kisses are both tender and passionate, a combination of skill and the intense chemistry between us. He tastes like toothpaste and bad decisions with a touch of destiny.
I’ve been kissed before but never in a way that makes me positive I’ll never kiss anyone like this again.
“Ah, you’re sweet, angel,” he whispers against my mouth.
“Where’d you learn how to kiss?” I whisper back.
“Eighteenth century England.”
I want to laugh, but he dives back in and our mouths move together hungrily.
Outside, the ice that’s settled on pretty much everything cracks and pops around us, but all I care about is the man whose arms I’m in. How safe and warm and sexy I feel. The weather, the future, nothing matters except West. I might be a silly romantic but my body knows what my heart and mind are afraid to want.
“I’d take you to bed if I had a condom,” he breathes when we finally pull apart.
“I don’t have any either,” I admit in frustration.
“That’s okay. Kissing is nice.” He brushes his knuckles across my cheek. “Touching you is nicer.” He runs his other hand down my chest, cupping the curve of my breast but then continuing down to my stomach. He splays his fingers against my flat abdomen, and then gently slips beneath my shirt. “I knew your skin would feel like this.”
“Like what?” I ask breathlessly.
“Soft. Smooth. Like a piece of silk.”
My breath hitches when he starts tracing little circles around my belly button and then moves over to my hip bone. I watch him, fascinated, as he continues to touch and explore my skin without making any overt moves, without trying to undress me. In some ways, it’s more innocent than second base in high school.
Except West is so much hotter than anyone I ever dreamed of in high school.
And bigger. So much bigger.
“If you keep that up, I might spontaneously combust,” I murmur.
He smiles, those beautiful blue eyes meeting mine. “Maybe that’s my plan.”
“I like this plan.”
“As much as I like touching you, flip around and straddle me.” His eyes burn into mine.
“I, er…” I hesitate only because I know how good that’s going to feel and we can’t do the thing I want most.
“Lots of things we can do without penetration,” he says gruffly. “Trust me.”