Page 38 of Fighting for Irish
“Don’t what, kitten?”
Meeting his gaze with all the moxie she could summon, she said, “Please don’t stop kissing me.”
“No problem.” He’d barely finished the words before making good on it, and with his mouth firmly on hers again, her insecurities melted into the heat pooling deep in her stomach.
“Kat, open up for me,” he panted. “I need to taste you. We’ll go slow, I promise, just please let me in.”
It wasn’t his plea that had her parting her lips, but her own needs and desires mixed with intense curiosity as to what it might feel like to lose herself in a kiss. To lose herself in his kiss. Remembering he wanted her to be clear, she gave him a quiet “yes” and parted her lips.
He groaned his approval and held her face as his tongue tentatively explored in shallow strokes, giving her time to acclimate to the intrusion. But time wasn’t necessary. Kat was fast learning that this man was like a potent drug: highly addictive and should come with a warning label. She wanted more. Needed more.
Digging her fingers into his back, she succumbed to her instincts. Despite her pulse and the intensity of the sensations climbing in her belly, he kept the pace slow and methodical. Their tongues met and glided over each other again and again in an erotic dance. He tasted like heaven with a splash of cranberry juice, giving her a new affinity for the tart flavor. If Ocean Spray could find a way to bottle it, she’d buy stock in the Cran-Irish line.
When he pulled back, she had to force herself not to follow him, but the ache she felt at the loss of connection with him shocked her with a dose of reality. She’d just experienced her first true kiss, and it had rocked her to her core. If Irish could affect her so well with a kiss, what could he do to her if she gave him her body? A slight tremor ran through her at the thought.
“Wow,” he whispered, clearing his throat. “That was…”
“Really good.” Kat mentally slapped herself in the forehead for such a lame description. English was her best subject, so surely she could have spit out something a bit more profound than that.
Irish smiled widely, his white teeth bright in the moonlight. “Yeah, it was.” He rolled over and got out of the bed. She settled back against the pillow as he leaned over, bracing himself with his arms on either side of her. Then he kissed her again, almost as though testing to see if she’d let him. Closing her eyes, she reveled in the melding of their mouths as they barely interlocked, she embracing his full lower lip while he embraced the opposite. A gentle passion and mutual respect conveyed in one small act.
“Sweet dreams, kitten,” he whispered against her forehead before placing a chaste kiss there.
And with a lump in her throat and a knot in her belly, Kat watched him slip from the room, even as he made a place for himself deep in a corner of her heart.
