Page 91 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

—

The door to my apartment bangs open as we tumble inside, hands frantically scouring each other’s bodies. Our kisses are deep, open-mouthed, tongues stroking, groans and sighs. Finally,finallyI’m kissing him again. I could cry, I’m so relieved.

Will paws around, feeling for the door until he connects with it. He sends it flying shut with an echoingboom.

“Wait, baby,” he mutters, tearing his face away from our kisses just long enough to see what he’s doing as he bolts the door and turns the handle’s lock, too.

“No more waiting,” I whine against his neck as I kick off my boots, then press up on bare tiptoes, licking into the hollow of his throat.

“Fuck,” he groans.

Will steps clumsily out of his boots as I kiss my way down to his chest, then he starts to walk me back down the hall, stopping halfway, pressing me against the wall. He slows our kisses, his hand at my jaw, holding me there, his tongue stroking mine, slow, silken. Heat coils in my belly.

“You taste so good,” he mutters against my mouth.

I sigh into our kiss. “So do you.”

He grunts as I drag my hand up his thigh, deliciously close to the hard, thick weight of him pressing into my stomach. Gently, he takes my hand and draws it away, linking our fingers together, pressing them against his chest. Right over his heart.

Will stares down at me, jaw tight, eyes on fire. “You sure you want this?”

“I have never been surer of anything,” I tell him. “And if you ask me again, the dominatrix is going to come out.”

He groans a laugh into my mouth as I kiss him, as I lose myself to the pleasure of his hips rocking against me, the heat of his body tight against mine. Aching need thrums between my thighs, at the tips of my breasts. My skin beads with sweat.

“Touch me,” I beg.

He smiles against my neck as he wraps his hands around my back and tucks me close. Breathless pants leave me as he kisses his way down to my collarbone, then nips it softly. “I am touching you.”

I grab his hand and set it between my thighs, rubbing right where I need it.

He swears into my neck. And then he grabs me by the butt and lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, lock my arms around his neck.

My fingers dive into his hair as I kiss him, as I work myself against the hard, thick weight of him right at my pelvis. “I really hate clothes right now,” I pant.

“They’re the worst.”

“Says the guy in a skirt. I’m practically sewn into these pants.”

Will laughs as he walks us through the living space, down the hall, straight to my bedroom. “I wish this kilt were as uncomplicated as a skirt. It better not take as long to get it off as it did to get it on.”

“I’ve read a couple hundred Highlander romances, Will.” I nip his bottom lip gently with my teeth, earning a grunt of pleasure. “I’m prepared for this, and I promise you, that kilt will be off in no time.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” Gently, he lowers me down until I’m standing. Nothing about what comes next is measured or controlled, no slow, savoring striptease. I frantically shove away the tartan plaid draped over his shoulder and drag his shirt over his head. Will fumbles with my blazer’s buttons and all but rips it off of me. I yank at his belt buckle, letting it fall with the sporran to the ground, then tug the plaid wrapped around his body just enough to loosen it at his hips.

“How did you do that?” he asks breathlessly, shoving down his kilt. “I had to roll myself up like a goddamn burrito, and you just get it right off.”

“Told you I would.” When the fabric drops to his feet, I let out the most pathetically needy sound. My question from earlier is answered—hedidwear underwear—but it’s still a glorious sight, the gray boxer briefs low at his hips, bulging with his erection. I palm him and stroke hard.

“Jules,” he begs, gently nudging my hand away, sinking to his knees, quickly unfastening my pants’ button, dragging down the zipper. I hold on to his shoulders as he peels my pants down my legs, then helps me step out of them.

Will stands and reaches for my hair, which I’ve started tugging at, the pins and hair tie stubbornly resisting my stiff fingers’ efforts. “Let me?” he asks.

I peer up at him, our frantic desperation gone, tenderness filling the space between us. Nodding, I set my hands on his waist. Will leans in and deftly plucks out the pins, kissing my temple, my forehead, my cheek, as he draws out each one. He kisses my mouth, slow and soft, as he unwinds my hair, then drags out the hairband. I grip his waist hard and press up on tiptoes, eager for more.

My hair falls to my shoulders, and he sinks his hands into it, then tips my head back, fucking my mouth with his tongue, just how I want him to take me. Slow and hard, dragging back, making me chase him until he plunges back in.

I’m so keyed up, it’s going to kill me. I’m going to die of waiting.

---