Page 98 of #Moonstruck

He went back to our kiss, and his words caused a swell of love that I’d never experienced before. I could trust him. He wouldn’t hurt me. Everything he’d said was true, and I knew it. My last clear thought was that I wished I could thank whatever pleech, groupie, or girlfriend had taught him to kiss this way. He used easy, delicious glides that had me clinging to him, trying to get closer.

He moved in a steadily increasing rhythm, a constant drumbeat, that robbed me of my breath and ability to think. Our lips were like two pieces of a puzzle fitting perfectly. We pressed them together, moving in warm, sensual strokes.

As always, Ryan kept the kiss in that controlled range where we both really enjoyed it, but I could sense the wall he stayed behind. The line he wouldn’t go past because I’d told him not to. His restraint felt like a physical barrier erected between us. Behind that wall there was a passion I wanted. I didn’t know if it was because of our earlier conversation, or his promises, or because I now knew I would marry Ryan De Luna, but I found myself wanting to experience it. With him.

I pushed into him. Wrapped my arms around his neck. I broke the kiss off long enough to say, “I want more.”

“More what?”

“More,” I repeated in a breathy voice that sounded nothing like my own.

I saw his Adam’s apple bob and a slight nod, and then he captured my lips with a desperate, hungry urgency.

This was what I’d wanted. More of this.

Restraint gone, walls demolished, lines erased.

His lips feverishly explored mine as if he wanted to memorize every square inch of them completely. I let out a little groan of pleasure, and I felt his hands tighten around my ribs in response.

Then he used those same hands to separate us. To pull back. To hold me in place so I couldn’t keep kissing him.

“Maisy.” I heard the warning in his roughened whisper, but I also heard the longing in it. “We should stop.”

“Don’t you want this? Don’t you want to kiss me?”

He closed his eyes as if my questions physically hurt him somehow. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

His words embedded a hot spike in the pit of my stomach, sending flares of heat everywhere.

Ryan opened his eyes slowly. “But I’m trying to be respectful.”

Swallowing hard, I told him, “It’s not your respect I want right now.”

As if that was all he needed to hear, Ryan crushed me against him, his fierce, hot lips seeking and devouring. His hands were in my hair, stroking my face, rubbing my neck. His touch turned my heart volcanic, pumping lava through my veins, making my skin flush in response.

Ryan’s strong body molded against mine as he laid me on the couch, never breaking the contact between our mouths. When he had me flat against the cushions, he leaned back to look at me.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, running his fingertips against my skin, leaving pools of molten fire behind. It was the kind of heat that brought tiny beads of sweat to my hairline and along my lower spine.

He closed in, totally intent on only me, his scorching kisses demanding more and more, just as I had wanted. Every fiber of my flesh was alight with fire, as if somebody had tossed me onto one of those funeral pyres. I burned. Ryan burned.

He kissed me like I’d made all his wishes come true. He kissed me like he was desperately afraid of losing me. He kissed me like I was cold water and the only person who could douse the flames.

Instead, I made it burn brighter and harder.

I ran my fingers along his flexed biceps and over his broad, muscular shoulders, loving all the pent-up strength just beneath the surface. Then I brushed them against his smooth jaw, missing his shadowy stubble that usually turned my delicate skin bright red after he’d finished kissing me. I let the strands of his damp, silky hair caress my fingertips.

As I explored the feel of him, Ryan did the same. Only he used his mouth. I felt his hot breath skim across my neck, my shoulder, leaving a fluttering, tingling sensation that increased a thousandfold when his mouth finally made contact with my skin. I gasped as his lips glided across my throat. My pulse sizzled beneath his touch, sensations spiraling out.

“I love you, Maisy.” His rough, husky voice sounded thick in his throat and caused heat to pool into my abdomen.

“I love you, Ryan.” His feverish hands turned my body into one frantic ache, my back arching against him.

It was going too far. Everything was about to spiral out of control. He had been right earlier. We should have stopped. Or we should stop now. There was no iceberg moment, though. It was more like somebody had nudged a tiny snowball in my direction.

With a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I pulled my mouth away from his and pressed against his shoulders. “Ryan, wait. You were right. We need to stop.”

His eyes were unfocused, his breath ragged. “I don’t want to.”

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