Page 81 of ICED
It feels intimate.
Her leg brushes mine. It’s a deliberate shift.
“You were good today,” she says, swirling her wine. “At the shower. With people. With Lila.”
My throat gets a little tight. “She makes it easy.”
“Mmm. You were still good. You made me feel like I could breathe with you there.”
I look at her. “Maya, you don’t have to be anything with me. Not perfect. Not polished. You just have tobe.”
She stares at me like she’s searching for something. Maybe permission. Maybe safety. Then, she sets her wine glass on the table and moves toward me.
Slow and certain.
She climbs into my lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world and presses her mouth to mine.
Everything else disappears.
Her kiss is heady, desperate, full of everything she hasn’t said. My hands go to her waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of that ridiculous, oversized jumper. Her skin’s warm and soft and mine now, at least in this moment.
She gasps when I deepen the kiss, and I swear to God, Ifeel it in my bones. Her weight settles over my thighs, and my hands automatically find her waist, steadying her like I’ve been waiting to do it all damn day.
She kisses me hard, mouth urgent and open, no hesitation. Her fingers dig into my shoulders like she’s anchoring herself, like she’s done being careful. And hell, I’m gone. I groan against her lips, one hand sliding down to the curve of her hip while the other fists in the hem of her jumper, pulling her closer, tighter.
She shifts against me and I can feel her heat through the thin barrier of fabric between us. Jesus. My brain short-circuits.
Her tongue brushes mine and I lose it a little; kiss her deeper, hungrier. She tastes of wine and sugar and everything I’ve ever wanted but told myself I couldn’t have. I let my hands roam, over her back, her thighs, gripping her like I’ll wake up and she’ll be gone.
She rocks against me and I bite back a curse, dropping my head to her neck. My mouth finds the skin there, it’s warm, soft, smelling faintly of vanilla. I kiss a line from her jaw to her collarbone, sucking gently at the spot just beneath her ear, and she moans, quiet and breathy.
“Owen…”
The sound of my name from her lips is a goddamn prayer. My hands slip under her jumper, splaying wide over bare skin, and her breath hitches when I trace the curve of her waist, her ribs, the underside of her bra. I don’t push, justtouch. Worship.
“You’re killing me,” I murmur into her throat.
“You deserve it,” she whispers back, breathless.
She drags her nails through my hair, tugging until I’m looking at her again. Her pupils are blown, lips swollen, cheeks flushed and she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I kiss her again. Filthy. Desperate. The kind of kiss thatsays if we weren’t in her living room with her daughter down the hall, I’d already be stripping her out of this jumper and laying her out right here.
She feels it. I know she does. Her body’s arching into mine, her thighs tightening around my hips.
My hands slide up her back and unclasp her bra with a flick. She gasps into my mouth, but doesn’t stop me. Her jumper rides up as she shifts, and I catch a glimpse of bare skin, lace, curves I’ve dreamed about.
But I don’t rush.
Instead, I pull back just enough to meet her eyes.
“I want you,” I murmur, voice rough. “But not just tonight.”
Her chest rises and falls. “I know.”
I slide a hand up to cup her breast, my thumb teasing just enough to make her shiver. Then I kiss her again, it’s slow, deep, and tender, like I’ve got all the time in the world.
Because for her?
