Page 88 of Habits

I swallow the needy moan at the touch of him against me. I want him. I want him so badly, but not just yet.

My fingers go lower, tracing every ab separately, and then I come to soft, light trail that leads into his jeans. Taking my lip between my teeth, I let my fingers trace down, down, down …

“Not yet, Princess,” Andrew grumbles, his voice low and rough as his hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me just before I can reach the edge of his jeans. “If you touch me, I’m going to burst and we don’t want that.”

“I think we esta— …”

He cuts me off with a kiss. One long, hungry, greedy kiss.

It’s wet and sloppy, but oh-so-good.

He sucks at my lip until I open up, letting his tongue enter my mouth. We swirl and dance, playing the game only known to us.

The dance of two desperate people, looking for release.

Looking for oblivion.

His hands find a way between the strands of my hair, tilting my head to get better leverage. His tongue dives deeper, making my legs shaky.

I moan loudly into his mouth, the combination of rough touch and soft lips a turn-on like no other.

My hands dig into his shoulders. Hard. So hard, I can hear him hiss.

Andrew bites into my lip.

A mute warning, before he breaks our kiss completely.

He lays me down on his bed, his big form looming over me. His chest rises with sharp breaths, and I can see his heart hammering rapidly in his chest.

He lowers over me, holding his weight on his elbows as he kisses all over my body. My neck. My collarbones. My chest. Each globe of my breasts.

Slowly, one of his hands sneaks backward, unhooking my bra and pulling it off. All the while, his eyes stay glued on mine.

The need to cover my chest is strong, but I don’t do it.

I don’t hide.

Not in front of him.

With eyes still on mine, his free hand slides down my side and over my tummy.

Can he feel the stretch marks? Can he feel the muffin top that no matter what I do I can’t get rid of? Can he? Is he disgusted? What if he …

He kisses me, tongue sliding into my mouth, making my head fall back and my eyes close.

“Eyes on me,” he whispers between kisses, his hand cupping my breast, slowly squeezing the soft flesh as his finger rubs my nipple, making it harder than it already is.

“You’re beautiful, Jeanette Sanders.” Each word is accompanied with a kiss and a caress. “Beautiful and mine.”

Tears gather in my eyes.

The way he looks at me, the way he touches me … it’s all just too much.

I squeeze my eyes shut, holding back the tears, and press my lips against his in a frenzied kiss.

Pushing him back, Andrew falls on his back and I straddle him.

There are no words to describe what he just gave me. The gift of acceptance, confidence in my own body, in my beauty and worth.

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