I let out a gasp that’s at a mom’s volume, so it’s pretty much silent. I freeze when I realize I’m straddling a set of granite legs, and there’s some action going on in those jeans that may or may not be a pine tree coming to life.
“Oh,” I gasp. “I…need to…uh…”
“Yeah.” Toren smiles softly at me. “Sorry. This is just…uh…”
I need to make a fast exit, but my body isn’t cooperating. No, my body is leaning in and finding Toren’s lips. God, those lips. I remember exactly how he used to kiss, but maybe something’s changed over the past five years, and honestly, wouldn’t it be remiss of me not to test it out? Call it an experiment, if you will.
Tor’s lips part on a groan, and my lips part with his. Probably with a groan too. I’m not too sure because I’m suddenly deaf, and there are lights flashing all around the room. I must have swayed because his hands move to my waist, grasping firmly and keeping me upright. He doesn’t stop kissing me, but it’s not madly passionate or invasive. He’s gentle and sweet, and he’s taking his time. I know all about this low onslaught and those big, warm hands. One sweeps down my arm, and it’s like he’s pulling a secret lever because my lips open, and I allow him into my mouth.
I let that hand sweep past my waist, then down to cup my bottom, while the other hand strokes my arm down to my fingertips and starts a slow perusal along my side.
There is most definitely a pine tree between my legs, and I can’t help but wriggle against it. It’s been a long time since my lady cave had anything but my fingers going for her, so I suppose my body gets a pass on how ridiculously wet I am right now. Every bit of me aches for this.
I ache for Toren’s tongue, his hot caresses, and the slow dance his lips are performing on mine. I also love the way we already fit so perfectly together because we had this down to an artform, and it hasn’t been forgotten. Not even after a thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days, give or take a few more since I’m not good at mental math, and right now, my mental capacity is severely diminished anyway. The barrier of clothes between us feels like a burden of epic proportions.
Toren boldly curls his hand around my breast, and I arch into it so hard that I probably pop a few buttons on my blouse.
Toren plunders my mouth, showing and reminding me exactly what I’ve been missing. I wriggle against him, and I don’t even need to start fantasizing about his eight pack all drenched with water or sweat droplets because I’m so turned on that I can barely keep a grasp on my sanity. And it’s before Tor does that thing where he kisses a path over to my right ear and nibbles at the lobe.
I grasp his shoulders, digging my nails into his faded light blue t-shirt. I wriggle against him shamelessly, taking his hard mountainous bulge exactly where I need it. I’m so wet that I’m soaking through my thong and yoga pants and probably making a damp spot on his jeans. I know we need to stop. Logically, I know that.
But I can’t.
I can’t stop my fingers from curling into the muscles of his neck or my hand from grasping the wonderfully soft, dark strands of his hair. I can’t stop myself from raking my hand over his scalp until he hisses and claiming his mouth in a fiery kiss so I can trap that sound away deep inside me.
His hand sweeps over my silky blouse, then suddenly, his fingers are at the hem, slipping underneath my camisole and running up my heated skin until he finds the cup of my bra. He pushes it aside, and then his blazing hot palm is on my blazing hot breast. I arch my back again, thrusting the heavy globe into his palm. He curls his finger around the hard bud of my nipple, and I buck back, nearly throwing myself off his lap as I let out an ahhhhhhhhh sound that bounces off the walls even though it’s nothing more than a hiss of breath.
This is right where I start having fantasies of getting dumped off Toren’s lap onto the carpet and getting turned over onto my stomach so fast that I get rugburns while he does his worst.
“Tor,” I pant against his mouth. I wriggle harder against the hardness in his pants. A rush of wetness soaks me, and yeah, this time, I know I’m probably leaving wet marks.
I wish he’ll rip away these stupid yoga pants. So what if they’re not wearable again? I need them off.