Loaded with irony.
He was laughing. She’d been wrong about that touch. He wasn’t going to do it—no move, no kiss. There was nothing. She felt piqued. And disappointed. And anger swamped her. She was not going to let him go without scoring a point of her own.
‘I’ll see you Sunday,’ he said in farewell.
Just before he turned she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and stood on tiptoe as high as she could.
And pressed her mouth to his.
He froze. Didn’t pull away, but didn’t respond either. So she worked a little harder, stroking his lower lip with her tongue. A faint response then—the smallest flinch of his muscles. But it was so faint she let go and stepped back, suddenly aware she’d made a massive mistake.
‘What was that for?’ he asked, somehow closer despite her retreat.
‘Curiosity,’ she flipped back at him, frantically thinking up her defence. She’d crashed out of the floating feeling now. ‘I wanted to know if you’re as amazing as they all said.’
She felt his muscles firm even more and he loomed closer still.
‘And the verdict?’
‘Not as hot as I’d been led to believe.’
‘But I thought one of your top tips on first dates was not to get too hot.’
‘You were playing by my rules?’
‘What? You thought you were playing by mine?’ He laughed. She could feel the vibrations in the scarce space between them. ‘You really have no idea.’
‘Don’t patronise me.’
‘But, darling, you don’t just lean in and stick your tongue down a guy’s throat.’
Mortification and the hated goosebumps made her skin—and soul—painfully sensitive. So she covered with mock incredulity. ‘Are you giving me kissing advice?’
He was a jerk—she hadn’t stuck her tongue down his throat and he knew it.
‘A little lesson in seduction, if you like.’ He stepped even nearer. ‘I think you need it.’
She tried to push him away, but he was a mountain in front of her now—immovable and impassable. Her hands were tiny on his chest, her fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of his shirt.
‘To begin, Nadia,’ he said softly, and with light sarcasm, ‘less is more.’
‘Is that right?’ she snapped, smarting, tipping her chin high to glare into his eyes, deliberately digging her nails into his skin now.
He leaned closer, resting his hands on the wall behind her as he bent, his words whispering across her face. ‘Anticipation is everything—didn’t you know?’
‘It’s only everything if the end result is a disappointment,’ she said caustically. ‘If the end result was as amazing as it’s meant to be, then the anticipation would be forgotten in the heat.’
‘Oh, you’re wrong.’ He smiled. ‘You need to live moment by moment.’ His head lowered. ‘It’s much more fun.’ He paused, his mouth a millimetre from hers, as he gently instructed, ‘You start with lots of soft, teasing touches.’
His lips brushed hers lightly, just once. But the second she went to snap back at him he did it again. Then again and again and again. Until it was lots—as he’d said. Not deep, hungry kisses, but slivers of rich sensuality that made her open her mouth for more before she’d thought to stop it. Then she couldn’t think at all—she only wanted to move closer for more.
But he kept them light, lifting back as she tilted towards him.
‘Uh-uh,’ he teased. ‘You keep it the same—don’t go deeper until she’s begging.’
With one hand he played her like an instrument, gliding one finger after the other across her neck. Not making music but pleasure, with gentle touches. But she knew the strength was there.
And she wanted it.
‘You keep doing it, keep touching, until she can’t think of anything but more, more, more.’ He punctuated the words with teasing kisses—now across her jaw and her cheekbones, trailing lazily across her face, until she turned her head to put her mouth back in his path. Because she hadn’t been able to think of anything else for eons now.
Vaguely she understood the extent of his charm and experience—he hypnotised with mere words and the most restrained of touches, influencing her mood and her mind and making her want to move. At first she didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t want to push him away, but something burned. She didn’t want to be his mindless plaything. And then she realised he’d told her how to captivate him right back—with soft, teasing touches.
She unfurled her fingers, pressing them lightly on his chest. She felt his flinch as she did so. Through the cotton shirt she could feel his heat. With the tips of her fingers she smoothed slightly downwards, feeling his abs tighten all the more. Then she went north, spreading until she felt his hard nipples. She circled them and began him kissing back—nibbling at his lips, then pressing teensy, saucy smooches across his slightly stubbled jaw.
She realised he’d frozen. One hand was still pressed on the wall behind her, the other still cupped the back of her neck, but his own kisses had stopped.
Fear flashed—he was about to reject her touch again. But then she heard it. In his roughened breathing, in the rigidity of his body, she recognised the strain of holding back.
She smiled, moved her hands the tiniest bit faster, firmer, kissed more feverishly along his jaw. Little kisses, tormenting little touches. Only trouble was she was tormenting herself just as much—she wanted more.
He stopped her retaliation by grabbing her hands and forcing them down behind her back. The sudden manoeuvre thrust her breasts into his chest. Sensation shimmered down her body and on pure reflex she arched her spine, pressing closer against him.
His head came down, his mouth crushing hers. Nothing soft and teasing any more. Her neck stretched painfully as he forced her head back and plundered. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, deep and rhythmic. She sucked on it and she felt the growl, felt him tighten even more. With incredible strength he lifted her, sliding her up between his body and the wall—chest to breast, pelvis to pelvis, hand to hand, mouth to mouth.
He didn’t thrust against her—just pressed his hips into hers as hard as possible, pinning her so she could feel all those inches. Her senses rioted—screaming with overstimulation while demanding yet more. More skin, more heat. All her instincts were insisting she get closer. She kissed him back as hard and furiously as he kissed her. Rough and hot and reckless. The force of each other’s passion merged and grew into something even more powerful between them. Blistering and insane. She shook with the fierceness of her need, aching to cling closer to him. But he still had her hands, so she clung with what she could—her mouth and then her legs. Hooking one around his waist, angling her body so she was more open to his. For a moment it was heaven as she felt him hard against her.
But he tore his mouth away, his hot breath gusting as he groaned, his grip
