Page 61 of The Art of Being Merry
His mouth presses to mine gently, and my first thought is disappointment. How much of a letdown it is. I thought there’d be at least a small spark of chemistry. All the signs were there, and nada.
Not even the slightest twinge of electricity.
Without taking the kiss further, he pulls away, his caramel gaze seeking mine. “Mind if I make us more comfortable?”
I’m not anticipating his question, so I stutter, “S-sure,” curious to see what he has in mind.
His smile shines as bright as the Christmas tree in the living room. “Excellent.” His hands softly push my shoulders to the bed. He situates his lower half at my waist, draping his upper half over mine at an angle. His head breaches the space between us again, this time stopping an inch away from mine. “Let’s try this again. You here with me?”
“Present and accounted for,” I quip, my sense of humor coming out in full force.
“Brilliant.” And then his mouth is on mine, and I can’t breathe.
The way his lips cover mine, swallowing any protest mine could conjure up.
The way his tongue seeks entrance, invading my mouth without permission.
The way his hands cup the sides of my face, the calluses tickling my skin.
When I clue in he’s doing all the work, I become a willing participant, mirroring his actions.
It’s a heady kiss, one filled with passion and vigor and heat. So much freaking heat, I’m surprised my lips aren’t ablaze.
Forget what I said before about there being no chemistry. The connection sizzles between us, the intensity so strong, it could light the room on fire.
I wouldn’t even stop if it did. It feels too good to stop.
“Dax,” I moan, my head tipping back to expose my neck. He takes the invitation, moving his mouth lower, licking and nipping the exposed column. My hands seek purchase in his hair, and my fingers tangle in the neat locks, tugging gently on the ends.
His tongue leaves my neck, his mouth latching on to my rightbreast. It’s so amazing, my hips buck off the bed, though with his body weight, they can’t go far.
More moisture pools between my thighs, my lady parts needing in on the action. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this alive, I wouldn’t be surprised if he induced an orgasm with his tongue. As it swirls around the perky nipple, tension coils in my abdomen.
Five minutes in, and I’m ready to surrender to this man.
The thought brings a stark realization of not allowing that to happen. I can use him for my pleasure, but that’s all. I can’t fall for him, can’t lose myself in him, can’t get caught up in his web. No matter he’s not my ex, my self-worth is too important to give up.
But do I stop him from painting my skin with his saliva? Nope. Part of my self-worth is taking what he promised me.
I’m going to be a mess when this ends. Because I didn’t think one act of casual sex could feel this good.
Could feel thisright, if I’m honest.
I’m so up in my head and my feels, everything comes crashing in when I feel nothing. I lift my head, my breath erratic, and stare at the man who has ceased every action. His bare chest heaves, his expression a mask of indiscernible emotion. He runs a hand through his hair and expels a breath.
“Why did you stop?”
“I wasn’t expecting this.” His words make little sense, but maybe that’s because I’m in a state of confusion. Here I was, thinking I’d have an orgasm provided by Dax, and yet, I’m in this state of bliss without the orgasm.
“Weren’t expecting what?” I don’t hide the irritation in my tone. He has one job, dammit, and he’s failing at giving me an orgasm.
“For lack of a better term, connected.”
Do I admit I feel the same? What could it hurt?
“Same, but you’re making it sound like a bad thing.” Despite not wanting to, I sit up and rest against the pillows, tucking my thighs into my chest. “Is it?”
“In the sense of providing you with one orgasm, yeah.”
