Page 42 of The Woman Left Behind

He smelled jasmine and rose, felt a soft woman pressed down his front, and Jesus fuck, her lips fit perfectly against his.

For so many reasons, he wanted to have more finesse.

But this was Lillian, who still missed her cat a year after her passing, had fresh flowers in her kitchen, took beating after beating, kept her feet and kept going and had a laugh that sounded like a song.

And she’d thrown herself at him.

So he didn’t have finesse in him.

His arms closed around her, his mouth opened, hers reciprocated, and he swept his tongue inside.

He felt warmth, tasted beautiful woman, his cock that had been stirring since he laid eyes on her woke up and his arms tightened, pulling her deeper into his body as he slanted his head and took even more from her.

Lillian pressed closer, arching into him, her fingers sliding into his hair, and she gave it.

At her touch, he groaned into her mouth.

All about giving as good as she got, she moaned in return.

They made out, hot and heavy, for too long before he broke it, but he didn’t let her go.

Both of them breathing heavily, they stared into each other’s heated eyes.

Fuck him, that green shone like emeralds when she was turned on, and that in turn was a massive turn on.

“Well,” she said with a trembling voice, “it’s good we did that. It won’t be on our minds all through dinner and ruin the movies because that’s all we’re thinking about.”

She was very wrong. Now that he knew what she tasted like and how good she could kiss, that was all he was going to be thinking about.

“And we have practice,” she continued. “So we can just take up where we left off when you bring me home.”

He couldn’t stop it.

He busted out laughing, pulling her even closer, and after his head shot back with his humor, he shoved his face in her neck getting a nose full of jasmine and rose, and liking it.

She let him do that, and only when his laughter started waning did she whisper, “That feels nice.”

He lifted his head and smiled down at her.

His smile faded when he saw how intent she looked.

Not serious.

Intent.

“I’m going to see about making you do that more often, Harry Moran,” she said softly.

“I’m not going to argue with that, Lillian Rainier,” he replied, also softly, making his own vow, silently, to do the same once he got her through whatever was going to come.

She touched his jaw, then bopped up to give him a peck on the lips before pulling from his arms, but taking his hand and leading him toward the door, saying, “I need to get fed. I also need to watch you eat tomatoes and basil. I’ve spent all day making up great quips about you wasting a perfectly good opportunity to splurge on carbs. I don’t want to forget any.”

“I’ll take a bite of yours,” he said, reaching to the door handle but not catching it because she stopped dead.

He turned to her.

“I don’t share food,” she declared.

“Bummer,” he muttered on a tease.

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