Page 35 of Doing It for Love

“Shit.”

“Not shit.” His lips press into the hollow of my throat. “Hilarious.My girl has a backbone.”

“I was drunk.”

“You were adorable.”

I silently chuckle as his kisses skate over my collarbone. “Really, drunk and lippy does it for you?”

“Drunk and lippyLizziedoes it for me.” His nose trails up my cheek, his lips hovering over mine. I want to clamp my mouth shut so he doesn’t smell my hangover breath, but the way he looks at me, no longer playful but intense and deep, has me breathing hot and heavy.

“To be honest, Liz,youdo it for me.”

I’m about to make a joke. Tell him I know he’s going down on the bet. I have this in the bag. But I can’t. Gone are my quips. Gone are my thoughts. Gone is any and all control as his mouth finds mine. He’s soft as cotton candy at first, feathering and sweet, and has my heart pounding in my skull. His tongue slowly sweeps over the crease of my lips, and I open up for the soft caresses, so familiar but foreign all at once because he hasn’t kissed me like this in so long. Angel butterflies flutter in wave after wave, steadily making their way to my lower abdomen.

My back slides along the sheets, pulling me into a more comfortable position with Landon on top. Buster growls, and I feel Landon push at him with his feet. But the silly dog won’t budge.

“Buster,” Landon grunts. I press my lips together to hold back my laughter as I watch him struggle. “Buster,move.”

The pit bull shakes his head, making his ears flop and his collar jangle. He does this large yawn/growl/grunt thing and lies back down. Landon’s the one growling now.

“Stupid…hundred pound…cock-blocker…” he pants as he continues to push the pudgy pup toward the edge of the bed. I struggle to breathe as Landon’s weight shifts and thumps and bumps on top of me. Buster groans and slumps to the floor, and Landon brings his gaze back to me, letting his eyes drift up and down my body clad in his oversized shirt and a pair of boy shorts that I don’t remember getting into. He’s not a bit fazed by the clear mood-killer. And good. That bodes well for me.

His lips return to mine as if he didn’t just spend two minutes fighting the dog, still soft as a feather, teasing those butterflies out of hiding. His hairy legs rub against the smoothness of mine, tingling and tickling and causing my heart to explode right out of my chest. I love the contrast between us. Hard and soft, scruffy and smooth, tentative and impatient. I lock my hands in the sleeves of his shirt, forcing my fingers to behave themselves.

His hands have other ideas, though. Fingers dig into my hips, causing sharp gasps and moans to fly from my mouth into his. He presses his kiss harder, stronger, a long growl rolling off his tongue. I swallow it up, match it, press back, wanting so much to move my hands, feel what this is doing to him. My legs clench around his, hips needing to move but brain telling them to stop.

Think Bahamas. Sunshine and piña coladas. Warm sand and cool ocean. Fluffy towels and tanning oil.

Oil on Landon’s hands.

Down my back.

Over my legs.

Up my legs.

My stomach.

My breasts.

Oh, good golly almighty.

Landon’s fingers slide up my shirt, and out of instinct or habit, I sit up with him as he pulls me free of the fabric. I’m still wearing a bra, nothing special or sexy or lacy, just a generic white one I wear because of the supportive underwire. But he looks at it as if it’s the best one he’s seen on me. His mouth is slightly open as he breathes hard, gaze locked on my chest. Damn, he makes me feel so hot when he does that. I’m one sexy-ass beast.

His hands reach for my breasts, then pull back, then do it over and over again. He finally braces himself against the headboard, forcing me back to the pillows. He shuts his eyes tight and audibly counts breaths. I bite my smile and trace a nail around the waistband of his boxers. Lord Landon twitches, but I avoid contact with the fella.

“I like this,” I say, stroking the upper part of his V. I meant to get him to give in—ravishme, damn it—but I’m finding the fault in my plan as my hand starts to travel south. No, no, no naughty hand. You tuck yourself against the sheets and don’t move.

Landon counts breath number fifteen and then opens his eyes. I smile at his lust-filled gaze, not-so-subtly inhale to force my breasts to a more prominent position, and then wait. He’s going to give in, I know it. The angel butterflies celebrate in my nethers.

He pushes off the headboard with a grunt, and his shirt flies from his body in the next second. A grin teases the corners of his lips and he makes his pecs dance. I laugh and smack his chest.

“You’re such a cheater!” He knows getting me in a playful mood will breakmefaster. Nothing is sexier than a funny Landon. I cover my eyes with the bedsheet, trying to talk myself into thinking I’m completely satisfied. Landon flops onto the mattress next to me, my body suddenly chilled with the space between us.

I drop my hands but keep my eyes on the ceiling. Think unsexy thoughts.

Dirty socks.

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