Page 35 of Off Limits: The Firsts

I step toward him.

Time feels like it stops.

His gasp is soft but audible.

Then starts again in slow motion.

A soft squeeze of his pinky around mine.

Then slams into fast forward.

Within a heartbeat, exactly what I both wanted and feared happens: his lips are on mine. The kiss is slow and breathtaking, with soft lips and gentle tongues and murmured sighs and guiding fingertips.

This is wrong, Scout. So wrong. But how can it be wrong when it feels like this and tastes like him?

“Easton.” I tell myself to step back. To resist. To not want to kiss him.

And then our tongues meet again in a soft dance of sighs and need.

“I think we should go check out—”

His lips smother the words on mine.

“—your field—”

He nips my bottom lip.

“—your bases—”

His tongue taunts again.

“—your—”

“Will you shut up, please?” He laughs against my lips. “You’ve been fighting this kiss all day long, and I practiced restraint like you told me to do . . . but right now? Right now, I’m going to kiss you senseless, Scout, and I want to fucking enjoy it. So, for the love of God, woman, use those lips of yours on me and not on words.”

His sexy-as-hell reprimand evokes a flood of emotions within me, and yet there’s only one of them I can name: want.

And God how I want.

So I lean into him and take control of the kiss. I talk without sound this time. With lips and teeth and tongue, I let him know I want to enjoy the kiss just as much as he does.

I throw my concerns out the window. Tell myself to worry about them later, be mad at myself later, but for now just enjoy this virile and attractive man who wants me just as much. I slide my fingers up his chest, touching him the same way I often have to when I stretch his shoulder, but now there is no thought of anything other than how much I want to feel his weight on top of me.

He runs his hand down the line of my neck to the curve of my shoulder and then down until it rests on the small of my back, where he’d placed it earlier tonight. But this time when he pulls me in tighter against him, I don’t resist. This time I welcome everything about it. The heat of his body. The flex of his hand against my back in tangible restraint. The bulge of his erection as it pushes against my lower belly.

And damn if knowing he’s already hard for me doesn’t add fuel to my firestorm of want.

“Scout.” It’s my name again, but this time I know exactly what he’s asking me.

“Yes.” One word. It’s all I say, then that need and desire simmering between us ignites into a combustible wildfire where first-kiss-caution is consumed by unfettered lust and reckless abandon.

That hand on my back slides under my V-neck and runs up the side of my torso, thumb rubbing ever so gently over the underside of my breast on its way to help unclasp my bra.

My body burns with the expectation of his touch.

And then it lights on fire when his fingers trace their way back—skin to skin—beneath my loosened bra and over my nipples. They harden instantly as his thumbs rub circles over them—they tease and pleasure—all the while his lips and tongue launch another assault with a renewed vigor that only makes me want more.

And he gives me that more when he lifts my hands above my head, pulls my shirt off, and dips down and takes my nipple in his mouth. The warmth of his tongue mixed with the scrape of his stubble adds an element of contrast, soft versus rough, that twists my insides and leaves me wanting to know if he’s as slow and thorough with every other part of his sexual attention.