Page 48 of Unexpected Pickle
Her body tenses, then relaxes, and the moment she sinks into me, I draw her close.
Her lips are soft and her body warm. My mouth devours hers, my tongue sliding across her lips until she opens for me. She tastes of granola and honey.
Jeannie. My Jeannie. I’ve got her.
I’ve waited too long for this, wanting it, hoping for it, to do anything but take everything I want in this moment. I will kiss her for hours. For days. Until the firefighters or management or whoever is going to come bangs down our door.
Then I’ll kiss her still, as long as she will let me.
My palms cover both of her cheeks, my hands slipping into her hair. The loose knot she tied comes undone, and the silky strands fall over her shoulders.
I caress the base of her head, my thumbs on her throat. I stroke her skin in long, desperate motions. I’m lost in her. Completely and utterly gone.
She gasps against me, sucking in a breath.
I pull away. “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about this forever.”
“You have?”
“Every time I came to the kitchen.”
She watches me with that intense gaze. She’s so hard-shelled, but I’m inside that wall. I can feel it.
Her voice is tentative. “Would you do it again?”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice.
I dive in again. This time, we move together, our mouths hungry. The spark has moved from me to her. I can tell when it lights up.
Her hands go to my shoulders, taking in the breadth of them, sliding down my arms.
We’re both in layers, almost nothing exposed, but I sense impatience in her.
Is it true? I don’t want to push her.
But her hands move to my waist and find the hems of all the shirts.
When her fingers brush my skin, my whole body ignites.
I’m rock hard and aching for her, desperate to move fast.
But I clamp down on all that. I don’t know what she wants. It might be curiosity. It might be a temporary loss of control.
Her hands slide up my abs, bumping along the terrain of my belly until she reaches my chest. She sighs against my mouth. She likes what she’s found.
I kiss her while she explores, moving around to my back, her fingers brushing along my spine and crossing my shoulder blades. She pulls back. “Can I see what I’m touching? Or is too cold?”
“You can do whatever you fucking want.”
She laughs. “We’re getting a little crazy, aren’t we?”
“Let’s get completely crazy.” I release her to pull all three of my sweatshirts off at once.
She looks at me, and even though I’m used to being seen, this is different. This is Jeannie, who aims kitchen knives at me and orders me out of her space. The strong one. The hard one. The one who doesn’t trust, who won’t let down her guard.
When my clothes hit the floor, she’s up on her knees, running her hands all over me. “Jesus, Hex,” she says. “It must take so much work to look like this.”
I can’t even think with her touching me. She lifts her gaze up to me, her fingers tracing their way along my skin.
