Page 19 of Wrong Place, Wright Time
“Banks.”
My eyes snap to hers as I swallow my urges deep down.
“I think I want you to kiss me now.”
I slide the cross stitch back into my bag and set it aside. “You think?”
“I know,” she whispers, licking her lips with her perfect pink tongue. “It feels like we see each other clearly now.”
I grin as I slide my hand against the curve of her neck and brush my thumb against the underside of her cheek. “And it turns out we’re both nerds.”
A smile brightens her face as laughs. “Will you teach me how to cross stitch?”
I lean in and brush my lips against hers. “Abso-fucking-lutely,” I murmur, before kissing her with everything I have in me.
Isla
Something about the way he kisses me knocks the air out of my lungs. Every. Single. Time.
I can hardly do it justice describing it, but when Banks’s mouth is moving against mine, nothing in this world compares. Not puzzles. Not choc mint ice cream. And definitely not takeout Chinese or a night alone, snuggled under a blanket watching Netflix until I fall asleep. Previous to meeting Banks those were all of my favourite things. But now—as much as I've denied myself the pleasure—being kissed by Banks is definitely at the top of that list.
My body aches for more, and I moan into his mouth from the pleasure of it.
“I want you, Isla,” he murmurs, his hands wrapping around my waist before he hoists me onto the nearest surface, which happens to be the buffet I use to store all of my finished jigsaw puzzles. My back collides with the Tiffany blue wall as he pushes my legs apart with his knees and I make quick work of shoving his jacket from his shoulders. I need the heat of his skin. Now.
Tugging at the bottom of his shirt, I scrape my nails along his tender flesh, feeling the goosebumps develop as I glide my palms up to his ribs. “I want you too, Banks.”
He moans, sucking on my lower lip before he releases it with a pop then lifts his arms, helping me get his tee the rest of the way off. Then we just pause for a moment, his head hovering near mine, my hands against the warmth of his chest, the rapid thudding of his heart beating out the only sound in the entire room along with our heavy breathing. We lock eyes, searching in each other for any sign of hesitation.
“Please.” I wrap my hands around his ribs and urge him closer, moaning when his mouth collides with mine again, his fingers sliding beneath my sweater and skirting across the soft skin of my belly.
Everything inside me flutters, both with anticipation and nerves. The last time we did this, alcohol was involved. So I didn’t pause to think about the size of my stomach, the stretch marks over my hips or the abundance of cellulite that covers my thighs. I am by no means a small woman and never have been. I’m tall and I’m solid, and I like junk food far more than I should and dislike exercise more than I have the right to. But I am me. And alone, there’s never anyone to answer to. Never anyone to scrutinize my curves and question whether I should be wearing what I’m wearing or eating what I’m eating. Being naked around a man with a body as perfect as Banks’s is…confronting.
“Maybe we should take this into the bedroom?” I whisper, shuddering as his fingers skirt along the hem of my yoga pants, causing my insides to tighten and throb.
“Soon,” he whispers, his mouth moving to the curve of my neck and sucking gently. “I want to taste you right here first. We never got to that dessert.”
I let out a moan as his tongue traces my pulse, but then I react by gripping his wrists when he goes to remove my sweater. “Wait.”
“What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. I just…It’s very open in here.”
“Are you worried someone will see?” He turns and looks over his shoulder like he’s looking for someone else in the room. “Is there someone here I don’t know about?”
“No. It’s just that last time, we were drinking. And this time, well, you’re about to get the real show in technicolor.”
“And?”
“And I have stretch marks and cellulite androllsof skin where you have abs and muscles.”
He hooks a finger under my chin and forces me to look up at him while he places his other hand on the buffet beside me, his dark eyes boring into mine. “Do you honestly think I give a damn about any of that?”
“Maybe. I don’t know enough about you yet.”
“Well, considering I spent a single night with you then pursued you relentlessly for the chance at another, I think you can be pretty confident that I find you sexy as hell.” He places his hands on my thighs and pulls me against him, the evidence of his desire pressing squarely into the center of my aching core. “I’ve thought about you endlessly since that night. I dream about the softness of your skin and long to taste and touch you, sink myself deep inside you.” He moves to lift my sweater over my head again, and this time, when he makes it to my ribs, I let him, lifting my arms above my head then taking a deep breath as the cream fabric is pulled free of my hair, knocking my glasses off my face in the process.
“Oh shoot!” I grab for them, doing a little juggle before they clatter to the floor, but ultimately failing when they tumble to the ground with a clatter.
