Page 73 of Holiday Romance
It becomes very clear to me then that I have two options. I can go back to my room and go to sleep and we’ll keep tiptoeing until one of us cracks.
Or I can stay where I am. I can stay where I am and I can…
“Seven out of ten?” I ask.
His confusion lasts only a second before he realizes what I’m saying. “I guess practice makes perfect,” he says evenly.
And then everything happens at once.
I close the space between us and step into him, fully into him. Chest to chest, hip to hipintohim until it’s only our faces that aren’t pressed together. Andrew tenses against me, but I don’t let myself read too much into it and when he doesn’t move away I tilt my head up and press my lips to his.
It’s not the smoothest move I’ve ever done. MoreI dare you to stop thisas opposed tolet’s explore this newfound delicate thing between us, and yet, it does the trick. Warmth flows through me again, a heavy feeling of rightness that fills and soothes every inch of me. Places I didn’t even know needed soothing, like the nervous coil in my belly and the tightness in my shoulders. It all melts away with ridiculous ease as if to say,Look, you idiot, this was all you had to do. It was right in front of you all along.
There’s still some sugar by his mouth, leftover from his churros, and when I flick my tongue out to lick it off, he makes a noise I’ve never heard from him before. My hands go to his hair, moving from a caress to a clutch as I hold him to me, our kisses growing deeper, needier until the gaps between them grow shorter, until we barely stop touching. And I never want to stop touching. Kissing Andrew Fitzpatrick was the best decision I ever made and I’m brazenly about to tell him this when he pulls back, pushing me an inch away so there’s space between us.
My breathing is ragged, his just as bad, and I think maybe that’s it and we’ll go back to talking or he’ll bid me goodnight and I’ll have whatever the female equivalent of blue balls is, but instead his eyes drop from my face to where my robe is tied loosely around my waist. There he reaches out, running his finger along the half-hearted knot before a gentle tug pulls it free.
I’m not exactly wearing the sexiest of lingerie underneath. The T-shirt is plain white cotton, the underwear black and practical, but Andrew doesn’t seem to care, his gaze intense as his hands slide under the hem of the shirt and around my waist, growing surer with every inch until he’s holding me steady.
“This okay?” he asks.
I can only nod, barely able to form a thought as he draws a path up the sensitive skin of my rib cage. My top drags up as he goes, revealing my stomach as he stops just short of my breasts. His fingers feel hot enough to burn.
“Words, Molly.”
“I’m good,” I bite out, but he pauses at whatever he hears in my voice and brings his touch back to my hips. Before I can tell him to keep going, he drops his lips to mine, and okay, this is good too.
I respond with an enthusiasm I might have been embarrassed to show with another partner, but with Andrew I don’t hesitate, wrapping one arm around his shoulders as I press myself into him, giving him no doubt this time as to what I want. He gets the hint.
He kisses me. Harder than before. Hard enough that I’m gasping into him, doing my best to keep up, and my back hits the door before he spins us both away from it. He does it so fast that I almost trip and I try to concentrate on the kiss while concentrating on keeping upright while concentrating on Andrew. Andrew who’s steering me toward the bed and following me down onto it. Who’s overwhelming me until he’s all I know, until I stop thinking about anything other than the heat from him and the heat because of him.
My legs fall apart and he falls into the cradle of my thighs, our bodies pushing against each other until a pulse goes through me, deep and needy.
I want his shirt off. I want his shirt off and my shirt off. I want my skin against his and my body against his and I want it now and for the rest of the night and forever and ever and ever.
And still, he kisses me as his fingers move up again under my top, finally going right where I want them to, where Ineedthem to, and screw our friendship. I have one life to live here and I want this to be it. And with my lips never leaving his, I reach for the bottom of his T-shirt, intending to pull it off and give in to everything I want, when we’re interrupted by a firm, mocking knock on the door.
I didn’t know knocks could sound mocking, but somehow this one pulls it off.
“Oh, lover boy?”
Andrew freezes above me, his expression almost comical.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he says, so close to me that his breath skims across my lips.
“Romeo?” Oliver calls again.
“I’m sleeping,” Andrew yells.
“I’m not falling for that one again,” Oliver says, his words slurring. “You know I’m not one to stop a man from relaxing, but I’m afraid I need a little help. I won’t lie to you, after all that water I’m in desperate need of a piss but can’t seem to find my way out of this bloody suit.”
Andrew stares at me and, before I can stop myself, I run my finger down his nose. An almost pained expression crosses his face. “I’m tired, Oliver.”
“Molly’s welcome too,” his cousin says conversationally, and I clamp a hand over my mouth as embarrassment shoots through me.
“She’s also sleeping,” Andrew shouts.
“I don’t think that was snoring I heard.”
