He leans closer.
God, please—pleasekiss me.
"Noelle, I…" he trails off, swallowing.
"What, Bear? Say it. Ask me anything."
"Wonder what your lips…feel like. Taste like."
"So find out," I breathe. "Please?"
A growl rattles his chest. "No shit? You…you'd let me?"
A hungry smile curves my lips. "Try it and see."
Sitting sideways on his lap, I cling to his shoulders and fight for breath as he moves in, millimeter by millimeter. His hands frame my face, so exquisitely gentle he's barely touching me, as if afraid that one wrong move will shatter me like porcelain. The rough pads of his thumbs brush under my eyes. And then his lips touch mine, and my breath whooshes out of my lungs.
He's kissing me.
So softly, so slowly. So delicately. Tender. A questing question of a kiss: May I?
No tongue, only lips. So gentle. The immense power in his hands is reduced to a tremble upon my cheeks.
Gosh, this man.
I lean in, snaking my arms tighter around his neck. Tilt my head and deepen the kiss. A low rumble shakes his chest—shakes me.
I press him back into the couch and clutch his nape in both hands. Part my lips for him—his tongue darts against my lower lip and retreats. His thumbs caress my cheeks. Fingertips trace my ears. He radiates heat. Pulses with power. With coiled strength, with tightly leashed desire.
I feel it in every line of him. In the taut tension of his colossal muscles wrapped around me.
God help me—I need more.
It's been so long. So long since I felt wanted. Since I felt pretty.
Since I felt…sexy.
He gives that to me without even trying.
Makes me feel more like a woman than I ever have—powerful, sensual, desirable. Safe. Protected. Respected. Wanted.
All at once—all of a sudden. Just by being who he is.
I slip my tongue against his, and his whole being tenses, and he rumbles in his chest softly. Pulls away. "Holy shit, Noelle,” he breathes.
"I know," I whisper. “Me too."
"Thank you." His hands stay on my face, caressing. Cupping.
I give him a questioning look. "Thank you? For what?"
“The kiss."
I almost laugh but worry he’d take it wrong. “Don’t thank me," I whisper. "Just…don't stop."
"Your lips taste like candy."
"Bubblegum lip gloss." I pull back, licking my lips. "Like it?"
