Page 24 of Bad Habit
I could barely breathe. “How do you want to kiss me?”
His fingers trailed up and down up my arms and the small, almost chaste gesture made my nipples hurt. It made the place between my legs hurt. It made me feel like I was on fire and melting all over the dance floor.
“I want to kiss you in the way a man kisses a woman. How he kisses a woman he wants. Do you know what I mean bywants?”
“Yes.” My voice sounded breathy, not my own. “Can you pretend to want me like that?”
“Oh, darling,” he growled. “I don’t have to pretend.”
His hands drifted from my arms, one sliding to encircle my waist and the other gliding through my hair to cradle the back of my head. Then his face drifted too, moving closer toward mine, closer and closer, but not close enough.
I was so anxious to have his lips touch mine. I’d die if it didn’t happen. But it was like he was moving in slow motion, as if the past few seconds of movement had taken minutes, or hours. Maybe they had.
His hot breath warmed my lips, and it was like I was floating, his hands on my head and lower back the only things holding me aloft. But still, there’d been no lip-to-lip contact.
Just as I was beginning to think Mac was teasing me, that he didn’t plan to kiss me at all, his lips captured mine. Captured them in such an unexpectedly marvelous way.
The kiss was gentle—even gentler than when he’d kissed me like a sister—but the feeling was different. Instead of a soft direct press, his kiss was more like a series of nibbles, his lips taking toothless bites of my lips, the upper, the lower, one side, then the other, grazing as if each place on my mouth was a different flavor and he wanted to sample them all.
Then, as if to prove my tasting theory correct, his tongue darted forward, taking tiny licks to complement the nibbles.
I sighed, and as my mouth opened, he increased his lips’ pressure and his tasting turned more demanding. My lips responded, moving to the rhythm he set, our mouths fully open as if consuming each other. I was consumed by fire.
My lips scraped the whiskers of his top lip, then pulled on the flesh of the soft bottom one, exploring, learning the taste and feel of Mac. My mouth moved in ways I’d never imagined, but it was like it had always known what to do and was now making up for lost time.
His tongue continued its gentle licks, darting inside my mouth when I least expected it, and every nerve in my body was magically connected to my tongue, to my lips, and responding to what Mac was doing to both.
Both of his hands were now in my hair, engulfing my head and holding me captive to his plundering kiss. His tongue plunged and grazed along mine, and every part of my body felt it.
The skimpy underwear Sister Henry had picked out for me felt damp. It was probably ruined, and my breasts suddenly wanted to burst through the lacy bra. When she’d suggested these scandalous undergarments, I hadn’t seen the point—they’d stay covered, after all—but now I got it. When I moved, the raspy lace stimulated my nipples and the silky fabric of the panties slid lusciously against the velvet dress, against my own wetness…
I couldn’t breathe.
If Mac dropped his hold on my body, I felt sure I couldn’t stand.
His tongue continued to stroke and dip and, as if it had taken up a dare, my tongue slid along his too, gliding forward to taste his mouth, slightly sweet and bitter from the beer.
On one of my bold strokes, his lips closed around my tongue and he sucked, drawing me deeper. My legs melted. Mac kissed me like he was hungry and I was the food, like I was the best thing he’d ever tasted, like he needed me for survival.
And of its own accord, my mouth matched his fervor. I’d lived twenty-two years believing my tongue was only for tasting, for doing its part in forming words… Who knew a tongue could yield this kind of pleasure? So, so much pleasure.
At some point, my hands had drifted into his hair, and it was as soft as I’d imagined, the curls springy. I couldn’t get close enough to Mac, and I loved how solid and warm his body felt against mine, how my aching nipples sent pleasure racing through me as they brushed his jacket, how the stirring in my belly amplified each time I pressed my hips against his hard body.
His hands moved abruptly to my waist, and he lifted me back.
I gasped, barely able to draw breath, as the inches between us cooled my body and felt like a mile.
His eyes were wild. They were the same bright green, yet they seemed darker. His lips were damp and deeper in color, too. I raised fingers to my lips—damp and hot and swollen.
“Did I do something wrong?” I barely recognized my voice. I’d do anything to get him to kiss me again, to feel those feelings again.
“No.” He shook his head slowly. “Problem is, you did everything right.”
“Then why did you stop?” I tried to move closer, but his arms were keeping a horrible, insurmountable four-inch gap between us.
He blew a long breath through barely parted lips. “Faith, if we didn’t stop, I was worried we might get arrested.”
“Kissing is illegal?”
