Page 96 of If We Were Young

“Uh huh.” His lips alone would finish me. Every path they skimmed burned me in their wake. I shivered and heated all at once.

“We fit together perfectly, and the theory is right?”

“Something like that.”

“Perfect is a lot of pressure.”

He grinned, hiking me up in his arms, burying his face in my hair. “It’s workable.”

I didn’t say anything else. His lips devoured and destroyed, claiming every kiss I could give him back. The delicate touch, the cradling holds became a thing of the past. His hands were on my neck, my shoulders, hard and determined, pushing me, pressing me. I whimpered as he broke our mouths apart to lift my top over my head, and then sighed as he leant back in and claimed me in a breathless kiss again.

My skin rushed as the cold air flourished around me and as if sensing my shiver before I could express it, he lowered me down onto the white bedding; pulling it out from underneath me and then hooking it over us like canvas under stars.

“This is better. It’s full on daylight out there.”

Who’d have known that when this day finally happened, it would be at eight in the morning.

In a way it was better. There was no alcohol to blame. No drunken mistake at the end of an evening. It was just us and the broad light of day. Well daylight that included ominous snow clouds.

His fingers reached for the waistband of my jeans. He slowed the pace, no longer rushing as his hands danced across my belly, skimming the rounded curves, his palm flattening and pressing until his fingers reached the buttons to unhook them, pushing them through the tight gap. I got hotter and hotter, lifting my hips off the bed so he would pull them down quicker.

Under the duvet, our breaths bloomed like clouds on a sunny day. The small tent became a greenhouse of desire.

He smiled when he finally tugged at my jeans, pulling them away from my legs and making me sigh with relief. Once they were free from my ankles he sat back up, the duvet resting on his head. It would have been comical if I weren’t mesmerised by the blue of his eyes. His pupils dilated, his eyes a midnight wish. His long lashes lowered and rested on his cheekbones as he picked up one of my bare legs and skimmed his lips against my ankle.

Oh, good God. I had no idea ankles were sexy. His nose trailed up my calf, his strong fingers smoothing into the flesh in a painfully delightful way. “You have possibly the sexiest arse and legs I’ve ever known.” He kissed the underside of my calf and I stretched my toes.

“You have the sexiest bloody everything I’ve ever seen.” I gasped and pointed my toes like a ballerina as he dotted a kiss on the back of my knee.

He chuckled and pulled me down the bed. I wrapped my legs around his hips, the black lace of my underwear rubbing against the denim of his jeans.

Sweet shit. The pressure from the hardness under his jeans shot like a bolt of electricity. It rocketed through me. I swirled my hips against him, not even attempting to hide my attempt at self-gratification.

Ignoring my rotating hips, he picked up my wrist and kissed the sensitive skin, brushing across the veins and then running up the crease of my arm. I lifted my arms above my head in our little cotton cave and his hand ran along my tummy.

“Shit, Ronnie.” He groaned, his lips landing on mine; hard for a moment, all toying playfulness forgotten.

“You need to take some clothes off.”

“I will. But hang on.” He sighed almost reverently as he dipped his head from my shoulder and trailed a path of minuscule kisses down my chest into the valley of all the good stuff. The warmth of his lips seeped into me, spreading gentle little heart shapes of heat everywhere he pushed them. In the middle of my bra he paused and ran a thumb under the bone of the lace. A deep ache scorched between my legs. I wanted his hands on me, in me, everywhere. I reached to grasp his face so I could land a kiss, but he stayed intent on kissing down my stomach.

The heat in my core burned even wilder.

When his mouth danced around the edge of my knickers I held in a cry. A real cry. His fingers slipped up my thigh and swept over the lace. His breath burned hot, his tongue teasing the elastic band.

So glad I packed decent underwear. So, so, so glad.

Straightening back up, he turned me like I was nothing more than a feather. Then once I was on my stomach, he did it all again, from my ankles all the way up and back down again. Not an inch of skin without a kiss.

My nerves frazzled at the edges. Every time he moved close to a hyper-sensitive area caged by black lace, I sensed the familiar tingle build inside me. And he wasn’t even touching me properly yet.

He’d put one finger on me, and I’d blow like a volcano.

He unclipped my bra and smoothed the straps away, his fingers dancing over my spine like I was a piano and he knew my tune.

I whimpered my moans into the mattress, cussing every so often as his touch teased me to within an inch of my sanity.

When he tugged at my knickers, I held my breath.