‘Do you want to kiss me again?’
In that moment, he couldn’t think of anything else. Yet still he waited, keeping his desire curled up tightly inside him, his eyes staring right into hers. ‘Yeah, I want to kiss you.’
‘So why don’t you?’ She was flirting with him. He could tell by the look in her eyes and the sound of her voice. Damn if he didn’t love it, didn’t love the way she could be so vulnerable and yet so strong. It was touching him in places he didn’t know he had.
‘Because I want you to kiss me first.’
The smile that had been playing hide and seek on her face broke out into a full grin. Her shoulders relaxed, her cheeks plumped up, and she looked more desirable than ever.
‘Why didn’t you say so?’
16
Why then, can one desire too
much of a good thing?
– As You Like It
It was just a kiss, right? A simple press of one mouth against another. It wasn’t even a first kiss – that honour went to the kitchen clinch, that delicious embrace against the hard wood worktop. But that had been a spur of the moment impulse, a kiss without agenda. Free of prior planning or deep meaning.
But not this kiss. She’d been thinking about this one all morning. Been wondering when – not if – it would happen. Wondering if it would feel as good as it did that night in her bungalow.
The fact was it already felt better and she hadn’t even done it yet. Even the hesitation was delicious, thick with need and meaning, and it pulsed through her body until her skin felt raw with desire.
It meant something, because it was her choice. Her decision. She wasn’t just letting things happen any more, she was making them happen. She was laying claim to her own desires, unafraid where they might take her. For the first time in forever she was living for the moment, knowing that might be all they had.
And she was loving it.
She tightened her hold on his neck, placing the flat of her other palm against his chest to stop herself from falling forward. She could feel the planes of his muscles beneath his thin sweater, hard and unyielding.
She was still smiling when she kissed him, the elation of their connection making her want to laugh out loud. But then her lips softened, melted into his, moved against him with a demand she didn’t need to speak. It was as if she had flicked a switch, and the lights had come flooding on. Ryan kissed her back, his hands sliding around her back and pressing against the curve of her spine.
This wasn’t a fight for domination. They were two people – different yet equal – with needs and desires that matched each other’s. She wasn’t sure who opened their lips first, or whose tongue slid against whose, because they were both aching for the same thing.
When they pulled apart to grab a breath of air, she let her head fall back, exposing her neck. She didn’t have to ask for him to kiss her throat – he just knew.
When did she last feel like this? He’d only touched her with his lips and yet she was on fire. She moved the hand resting on his chest, tracing his pectoral muscles down to his abdomen, letting her fingers rise and fall over the taut ridges.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered against her ear, the sensation of his breath making her shiver. ‘So beautiful.’
He wasn’t the first man to say it, and yet it felt so new. As though he was seeing something deeper inside her, not just the attractiveness of her face.
‘So are you.’ She moved her head to the side, capturing his lips again. Letting out a moan, he kissed her back, lifting a hand to run it through her hair. Above them, another goose swooped down to the riverbank, letting out a loud call as he made it to the grass.
‘Ryan,’ she said against his lips, unwilling to break the kiss.
‘Mmmhmm?’
‘I think you better take me to bed.’
‘London?’
She rolled over, feeling the warm blankets enveloping her. Her mind was teetering on the edge of consciousness, still half-cloaked in dreams. There was a rocking sensation she couldn’t quite place. For a moment she almost plunged back into sleep, not wanting to let go of its soft embrace.
‘London? You need to wake up.’
Her eyes flew open. Ryan was sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs encased in denim, his torso bare. His hair was wet, slicked back from his head, and his skin glowed as though freshly scrubbed clean.