Page 66 of The Overtime Kiss

I devour her sweet, pretty lips, sealing my mouth to hers. She tastes minty, with a hint of lip gloss, and it’s my new favorite flavor in the world. The orange blossom candle scent drifts past me, like a seductive perfume casting a spell.

Our lips hunt and chase. Our tongues skate together. My teeth clash against hers. It’s hungry and ravenous, a kiss powered by the jet fuel of months of lust. Of her living with me. Of me wanting her. Of the memory of the things she said in the hotel room in Cozy Valley.

I keep thinking about your beard.

Your arms.

How you could pin me down.

I wonder about your mouth.

She’s obsessed with my mouth. I’m obsessed with her. Especially the sweet, indulgent feel of her lips, and the way I can taste her need, deep and desperate. I know that feeling well—I’ve been driven wild to touch her, and finally, I am.

Touching her exactly the way she wants.

With the kind of kiss I wanted to give her the night of her wedding. The kind she deserves.

It’s hot and deep, a little rough, and all real. I consume her lips, unable to stop, claiming every gasp with my mouth. She rocks up against my hard-on, and every nerve ending crackles. Lust spirals like a tornado, spinning higher, gathering strength and speed. We kiss hard enough to hurt, and I don’t want to break this connection. Ever.

But…there is so much more of her to kiss. I wrench away from her captivating mouth and trail kisses along her jaw, nibbling, biting, making her moan and gasp.

“Oh god,” she murmurs, and I travel down her neck, inhaling her scent, letting it fry my senses. But I never forget my mission:give her what she wants.

My gaze swings down to her strong hands, digging into my arms. A wicked smile forms. Yeah, I know what this woman wants. I grab her wrists roughly, my intent clear.

I meet her eyes. They’re wild as she gives a fevered nod.

Her breath hitches as I stretch her hands above her head with a decisive move, pinning her down. My breath comes quickly as I rise up and look down at her. “You said you wanted me to pin you down,” I rasp.

She swallows, roughly, quickly. “I do.”

So I keep doing it.

Blowing out a harsh breath, I drag my beard against her face, my chest rumbling as I touch her this way.

She gasps, then squirms under me. “Again,” she demands—a sweet, sexy beg.

I rub my stubble against her other cheek. She arches against me and we grind. A hungry sway of hips, a press of bodies. A tremor works its way through me, dangerously, as my cock stiffens even more.

She pants, clearly feeling it—feelingme. She wraps her legs around my waist, hooking her heels over my ass. “More,” she says, as if she’s lost to the feeling.

I’m lost to her. With my hands still gripping her wrists, I dip my face, then meld our mouths together, my whole body throbbing. It’s too much, too intense, all this white-hot magic. I should jerk away, cool off. But instead, I press harder, need squeezing my chest to almost unbearable levels as we kiss like the world has spun off its axis.

It feels like it—because my world is reduced to her and me, and this yoga mat. To my body moving against hers. To the moans she makes. To the wriggling of her hands. She wants something, so I let go of the grip on her wrists.

Her fingers fly to my hair, and she breathes the sexiest sigh of relief. “I’ve wanted to do this so badly. Every time I see you, I want to touch you,” she says as she rakes her fingers through my hair, and I nearly die of desire.

Her words. Her need. Her beautiful lust.

“You have no idea how much I want this too,” I say, and at last—at long fucking last—I confess what I kept swallowed down back in the hotel. “It took all my willpower to walk away from you that night. I never stopped thinking about it.”

“Yeah?” she asks, her voice trembling.

“All the time,” I say.

She licks her lips, then rocks her hips up against me as if she’s seeking out my length. I rock back, my mind spinning dangerously out of control.

Her words echo once more—I want you to take my real virginity.

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