His fingers teased over my skin, strong and gentle, just like him. His thumb brushed across my lips.
“Can I kiss you, baby?”
His deep, rumbly voice had me wanting more than just a kiss. I opened my mouth and pulled his thumb between my lips. His eyes darkened, his body stiffened, and I felt it all the way to my core.
Incapable of words, I leaned in, tilted my head up, and closed my eyes. I felt his face inch closer until I could feel his breath on my lips. With one hand still on my cheek, his other gently touched my hip. I jolted at the sensation.
He grunted in pain as my head crashed into his nose.
“I’m sorry!” I cried. Literally cried. Within seconds, tears and snot and probably the mascara I so carefully applied were running down my cheeks.
“Easy, baby. I’m okay. I was just surprised. I’m fine. No need to cry,” he soothed. His hands came up to my face again, his fingers holding me in place and his thumbs gently wiping my tears.
I stared at the couch, afraid to see his pain or rejection.
“Are you okay?” He waited until my eyes reluctantly met his.
“I’m fine. I’m not the one who was head-butted.”
“I surprised you. I’m sorry. Are you okay? Did you hurt your head?”
“I’m okay. But I did want to, uh… Can we still…?”
“Yeah, Juls, I still want to kiss you too.”
He leaned in again.
“Wait!” I pulled back and he released me.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just… One sec.”
I ran to the bathroom, rinsed and dried my face, and ran back.
“Hi.” I dropped back down on the couch.
“Hi, Juls,” he said with a low chuckle. “You good now?”
I nodded.
“Come here, baby.” He reached out slowly, his hands dropping gently on my shoulders, sliding down my sides and landing on my hips again. This time I melted into him as he pulled me close.
His lips moved over mine, warm and soft, and then his tongue touched the seam of my lips. I opened my mouth, fire licking through my body at the feel of his tongue against mine.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, my nipples hardening into throbbing peaks as they pressed against his broad, hard pecs. I moaned and he pressed his tongue farther into mymouth, taking it from sweet to scorching in a nanosecond. I forgot about the first failed attempt at kissing. I forgot to worry about how I sounded or how I moved. I practically forgot my own name. I was only aware of how good this felt. How good Dylan felt.
His hands roamed over my hips, my back, my shoulders, one settling on the back of my neck, wrapping around a fistful of my hair and holding me in place while he devoured me.
One of my hands dug into his shoulder, the other grabbed onto his thick hair. He groaned when I pulled the soft strands, the deep, intimate sound washing over me. I was drowning in him, and I never wanted to come up for air.
He broke the kiss and I whimpered at the loss, but then he trailed kisses across my jaw, kissing behind me behind my ear, a spot that I had no idea could feel so good.
I dropped my head against his shoulder, his scent invading my senses, keeping me lost in the feel of him. Soap and man. I don’t know how else to describe it. He didn’t smell like cologne, or anything specific that I could name. He smelled like strength and excitement and comfort and, well, like Dylan.
“Juls,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you since I first saw you. It was even better than I imagined.”
I didn’t know how to respond. My only thought was to say “me too,” but that didn’t feel like enough. I silently squeezed him tight, hoping he understood.