Page 137 of Wish You Were Mine
I couldn’t have agreed more.
His tongue swept gently across my bottom lip, coaxing my mouth open. And I let him in.
The kiss deepened, slow and sure, like nothing else in the world mattered but the way we moved together. Like he’d been thinking about this—about me—all day.
His other hand slipped beneath the hem of my shirt, fingers gliding over the bare skin at my lower back, and I sighed into his mouth. The rest of the world fell away as we kissed again and again—long, slow, breathless kisses that made me forget everything but him.
His lips drifted from mine, trailing along the curve of my jaw before finding the sensitive skin at the base of my throat. When he kissed me there—soft and open-mouthed—I couldn’t stop the quiet sound that escaped me. A whimper of need.
“You feel way too good, Lucy,” he murmured against my skin, his warm breath grazing the curve of my neck. “Too good for me to think straight.”
“You too,” I whispered, struggling to draw in a full breath.
That earned me a groan—a deep, rumbling sound from his chest that vibrated against mine—and the next kiss he gave me was rougher around the edges. Less controlled. Like something inside him was on the verge of snapping loose.
I slid my hand up the center of his chest, fingers brushing the crisp fabric of his button-up until I reached the knot of his tie. With a teasing smile, I hooked two fingers beneath it and gave it a slow, deliberate tug to loosen it.
“The sexy professor is officially off duty,” I murmured. “You don’t need this anymore.”
His mouth curved against mine in a low chuckle. “Fine by me.”
And then he kissed me again—deeper this time. Hotter. His tongue slid against mine in a slow, sensual rhythm that mademy stomach twist and tighten, heat blooming low and warm in my core.
My hips shifted instinctively, pressing more fully into him, every inch of me aching to be closer.
And then he moved.
With a smooth, fluid motion, he rolled us gently onto our sides, his arm cradling me as my back pressed into the cushions. Our legs tangled together, bodies flushed, my chest pressed tightly to his.
And I suddenly wasn’t sure where I ended and he began.
His hand skimmed farther up beneath my shirt, warm against my bare skin, rough fingertips exploring the ridges of my ribs. I gasped softly at the touch, and he pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with something that made my breath catch.
“Is this okay?” he murmured, his voice low, like he was barely holding on to whatever restraint he had left.
“Yes.” I nodded, barely finding my voice. “More than okay.”
He could touch me anywhere and I’d literally be just fine with it.
Wantit, actually.
His mouth claimed mine again, more urgently this time, more needy. One hand cupped the back of my neck, tilting my face to his as the kiss deepened, then slowed, then deepened again. Like he was savoring it.
Savoring me. Every soft sound I made. Every subtle shift of my body into his.
I moved instinctively, hooking one leg over his hip as our bodies locked together. His fingers dug into my waist, anchoring me to him, like he didn’t want to let me go for even a second.
Heat curled low inside me as I reached for the hem of his shirt, untucking it with slow, deliberate fingers. I slid my handunderneath, brushing over the hard lines of his stomach and ribs—nothing but muscle and heat and barely leashed tension. He was a work of art.
One I wouldn’t mind studying a little more closely.
Especially to see if my memory from the hot tub held up.
My hand slid higher, palm landing flat over his chest right where his heart pounded hard and fast beneath my touch.
“Your heart’s racing,” I whispered.
He glanced down then looked up at me, his eyes a little dazed. “Kind of hard to stay calm with such a beautiful girl wrapped around me like this.”
