Page 103 of Kiss Me Like You Mean It

She reaches out and runs a finger down my forearm, until she finds my hand. She strokes over my palm. ‘Such good hands,’ she says.

‘Yeah?’ I take a step towards her, meeting her where she is, seeing the relief light her eyes at my movement, feeling it as if it were my own. ‘Where would you like them?’

‘All over me.’ The answer is instant, no hesitation. She wants me to hear how certain she is. She tips her head back to look up at my face, her gaze steady.

‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’ Hooking my finger into the belt of that ridiculous cream coat she’s wearing, I tug her flush against my body. Then I wrap one hand around the side of her throat and pull her mouth to mine.

I don’t just kiss her. I devour her. I let some of that savage need out from the place I’ve been holding it back, let her feel what she does to me. I bite down on that full lower lip, until she moans. There’s nothing gentle about it, we don’t ease in, we kiss like we’re fucking, like we’re picking up exactly where we left off last night.

When I tug at the knot, the belt of her coat falls apart and I push it off her shoulders to the floor. Underneath it she wears one of those silky buttoned-up shirts that drive me crazy, tucked into a pair of dark, high-waisted trousers. It’s like the outfit she was wearing that night in Vegas.

I stop for a moment, taking her in. My gaze drops to her feet. Deadly-looking black stilettos. ‘You’re wearing your armour,’ I murmur.

‘I thought I might need it.’ Her teeth sink into her bottom lip.

I run my thumb across her mouth, gently tugging her lip free. ‘You don’t.’

Then I kiss her again, my fingers going to the button at the base of her throat, popping it open. Her pulse skips under my thumb. I dip my head, already desperate for that extra inch of skin.

‘Fuck, Daisy,’ I groan. ‘Why do you always smell so good?’

‘It’s my perfume,’ she manages, sounding dazed. ‘It’s honey and tobacco.’

I hum in appreciation as I undo another two buttons, biting down on the tender curve between her neck and her shoulder.

She’s unbuttoning my shirt too, her movements quick and neat. When her fingers hit the bare skin on my chest we both exhale in relief. I want her touch everywhere. I need her hands on me the same way I need oxygen.

I pull the bottom of her shirt out of her trousers and make quick work of her remaining buttons, running my knuckles down the narrow strip of skin I’ve revealed, over the pale pink lace between her breasts. I watch her nipples pebble through the thin fabric of her open shirt.

‘I thought you might not like this as much as the cowgirl outfit,’ she admits, and when I look up, there’s uncertainty in her eyes.

‘Do you know how wild you drive me in your fancy clothes?’ I say against her lips. ‘Do you know how obsessed I am with the idea of messing you up, tidy girl?’

Breathless, she shakes her head.

‘Why don’t I show you?’ I flick open the button at the top of her trousers, ease down the zip. She mirrors my movements and when her fingers graze my cock through my boxers I hiss out a curse.

I kiss her again, pushing her shirt from her shoulders, and down her arms, but the tight cuffs catch around her wrists. Taking advantage of this situation, I twist the fabric behind her, tugging her arms with it so they’re pinned, her hands in the small of her back, and her body arched towards me.

The bra she’s wearing is one of those low cut balcony ones, a barely there scrap of silk and lace that has my mouth watering. I lean forward, pressing kisses to her soft flesh, running my tongue over that silk, sucking gently on her nipple through her bra while she moans, restrained by the shirt that I fist tight behind her.

‘Oh god, Nico,’ she pants. ‘That’s…’ She loses her train of thought as I tease her with my teeth.

My attention dips lower.

‘Well, well, Daisy,’ I murmur. ‘Aren’t you full of surprises. Shoes off.’

She steps out of her heels without comment, suddenly several inches shorter. I release my grip on her arms, dropping down to my knees in front of her, my hands on her waist. I rub my mouth along her stomach, up under the curve of her breast where black ink swirls across her ribcage.

‘I like this,’ I say, tracing my tongue over her tattoo. Mine, my blood sings.

Lee shivers. She’s managed to free herself from her shirt, and her fingers curl into my hair, tugging lightly, the sensation in my scalp on the very edge of pain. I look up.

‘Take your shirt off,’ she demands. Those cool blue eyes are hot now. I laugh, but shrug off my open shirt. I’m immediately rewarded by the feeling of her hands running over my shoulder, my biceps. It’s like my skin is thirsty for her. Everywhere she touches me is a relief and a torment all at once.

More, the voice inside my head snarls. More.

I tug on her trousers and they fall to the floor with a whispered sound like a sigh. She steps out of the pool of fabric, and I stay there, on my knees, looking up at her, clad in nothing but her underwear.