Page 127 of The Reason I Married Him
“Well, I like being on the farm.” He dances his fingers down to my wrist where he encircles it and then slowly lifts my hand over my head and pins my wrist to the pillow. “I saw you looking at me through the office window.”
“What?” I say breathlessly as he lowers his head. “No . . . no, I wasn’t.”
“Damn,” he says with a devilish grin. “I was hoping to catch you. You didn’t watch me at all?”
“I, uh . . .” He brings his face so close our noses are nearly touching. “I was, um . . .” I wet my lips. “Working.”
“Maybe next time,” he says and then whispers. “Well, good night, Aubree.”
“G-good night,” I say just before his mouth descends on mine.
At first, he’s soft, exploratory, just like last night, but when I think he’s going to pull away, he applies more pressure as his mouth opens.
His body leans into mine.
And his mouth opens and closes along with mine, causing my mind to reel and my body to sing.
It’s so good.
His kisses are so delicious.
So addictive.
I cup his face softly and mold my lips against his, parting my lips as his tongue connects with mine.
Oh my God, yes.
My grip intensifies as I take a chance and slip my tongue against his.
“Fuuuuck,” he mutters as he pulls away and stares down at me, his chest heavy, his eyes searching.
I run my tongue over my lips as I keep my gaze on his. “That . . . uh, was that okay?”
“Yeah, more than okay,” he says right before he brings his mouth back to mine. This time, his body sinks into my side, the heaviness of it now falling into me like a weighted blanket. He parts my lips again, and his tongue dances across my tongue, tangling and twisting, our mouths opening wider.
He’s so good at this.
His command, his pressure, the feel of him holding me in place but also treating me as if I’m fragile. It’s unlike any kiss I’ve ever experienced. And I don’t want it to end.
It’s why I move my hand to the back of his neck.
It’s why I shift, making more room for him.
It’s why I continue to run my tongue over his, causing him to groan softly as he returns the stroke.
This is unexpected, but it’s also what I thought might happen tonight. Because the tension every night has been building. The kisses have grown. And now that he has me pinned against this bed, making out with me, using his tongue, making me feel things I don’t think I’ve ever felt, I’m slowly starting to melt.
To accept this.
To be okay with it.
Towantit.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, lifting up and releasing my hand. He stares down at me, his breath heavy, his eyes searching. It takes him a moment, but then he says, “Fuck, I’m sorry, Aubree.”
Wait . . . what?
“Sorry?” I ask, feeling confused and disoriented. “Sorry for what?”
