my fingers to touch.
He moves against me so slightly I might not notice if I weren’t so attuned to sensation. But I am, and I do notice. He shifts as though he can’t get close enough. I know, because I feel it, too.
I reach and grasp and cling, feeling him, feeling this kiss with every nerve, every surface, every sense. The swipe of his tongue, the nip of his teeth, the rumble of his groan when I thread my fingers into his short, silky hair to pull him deeper. He thrills every inch of me as effortlessly as the wind teases leaves on a tree.
When he finally eases back, we’re both breathless.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“Who is this?”
His laugh is a low rumble that tugs at the corners of my mouth and sends my heart soaring. It feels so good to laugh, and to laugh with Levi.
“Vixen! I’m not wounded at all. ”
“I was thinking about swirls of mahogany and wine and denim. How it tastes. How it feels. How it makes me feel. How you make me feel.”
“And?”
I pause. “It’s quite the cocktail. If I could paint it, every woman in the world would swoon.”
“I guess that’s pretty okay then.”
I reach up to feel his mouth, to confirm what I already knew. He’s smiling.
“Pretty okay?”
I feel the shrug of his shoulders. “I only did this because you were wondering if I was going to try to kiss you. I didn’t want to keep you in suspense.”
“Oh, well, that’s quite chivalrous of you. To make such a sacrifice.”
“Sacrifice indeed,” he says, bending his head to sweep kisses along my jaw, down the side of my neck. “And just to reiterate, if you must have sex, I’m perfectly willing to take one for the team. You know, if you must have it. I know how irresistible I can be...”
His voice has dropped low, his mouth weaving a spell over me as he speaks and kisses, weaving, weaving, weaving. His hands are roaming the base of my spine and the swell of my hips, teasing as he holds me close.
“I’ll be sure to let you know if I must ,” I mutter, letting my head fall back as he trails his lips down my throat.
“What are you thinking now ?”
As he asks, he pins me to the wall in the hallway. For the life of me, I can’t remember him moving me away from the door.
He rubs his body along mine, thigh scraping thigh, chest grazing chest. His tongue licks deliciously at my pulse, his teeth bite softly at my collarbone.
“I’m thinking you could be the end of me. The bright, beautiful firework that ends me. That sets me on fire. The flame that burns a brilliant blue and gold and white at the center of me.”
“I don’t want to be the end of you. I want to be the beginning,” he whispers, his voice a quiet, luscious roll across my eardrums.
“What are you doing to me?” I ask, my fingers working over the taut muscles of his shoulders, holding him to me as he wrecks me, like I might fall or disappear if he lets go.
“ That is what I was thinking,” he confesses, his lips making their way back to mine. “What are you doing to me?”
He kisses me once more, words and tongues and moans tangling together, fusing into a maelstrom of sensation.
But then, all too soon or maybe not soon enough, he’s pulling back. He’s setting me on my feet in reality. I keep firmly closed eyes that can’t see, as that’s my only way to stave off that reality.
“If I don’t go right this minute, I won’t be leaving until morning.”
“Don’t I have a say in that?”
“Would you say no?”
“Right now? No, I don’t think I could.”
I think he’s smiling again, but I don’t raise a hand to confirm. My arms weigh too much, so I let them hang limply at my sides.
“ That is why I’m leaving.”
I exhale slowly, a sigh of both disappointment and relief. Some small place in the back of my mind knows that if this happens, when it happens, life will change for me. The woman I am right now, Evian de Champlain, will cease
He moves against me so slightly I might not notice if I weren’t so attuned to sensation. But I am, and I do notice. He shifts as though he can’t get close enough. I know, because I feel it, too.
I reach and grasp and cling, feeling him, feeling this kiss with every nerve, every surface, every sense. The swipe of his tongue, the nip of his teeth, the rumble of his groan when I thread my fingers into his short, silky hair to pull him deeper. He thrills every inch of me as effortlessly as the wind teases leaves on a tree.
When he finally eases back, we’re both breathless.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“Who is this?”
His laugh is a low rumble that tugs at the corners of my mouth and sends my heart soaring. It feels so good to laugh, and to laugh with Levi.
“Vixen! I’m not wounded at all. ”
“I was thinking about swirls of mahogany and wine and denim. How it tastes. How it feels. How it makes me feel. How you make me feel.”
“And?”
I pause. “It’s quite the cocktail. If I could paint it, every woman in the world would swoon.”
“I guess that’s pretty okay then.”
I reach up to feel his mouth, to confirm what I already knew. He’s smiling.
“Pretty okay?”
I feel the shrug of his shoulders. “I only did this because you were wondering if I was going to try to kiss you. I didn’t want to keep you in suspense.”
“Oh, well, that’s quite chivalrous of you. To make such a sacrifice.”
“Sacrifice indeed,” he says, bending his head to sweep kisses along my jaw, down the side of my neck. “And just to reiterate, if you must have sex, I’m perfectly willing to take one for the team. You know, if you must have it. I know how irresistible I can be...”
His voice has dropped low, his mouth weaving a spell over me as he speaks and kisses, weaving, weaving, weaving. His hands are roaming the base of my spine and the swell of my hips, teasing as he holds me close.
“I’ll be sure to let you know if I must ,” I mutter, letting my head fall back as he trails his lips down my throat.
“What are you thinking now ?”
As he asks, he pins me to the wall in the hallway. For the life of me, I can’t remember him moving me away from the door.
He rubs his body along mine, thigh scraping thigh, chest grazing chest. His tongue licks deliciously at my pulse, his teeth bite softly at my collarbone.
“I’m thinking you could be the end of me. The bright, beautiful firework that ends me. That sets me on fire. The flame that burns a brilliant blue and gold and white at the center of me.”
“I don’t want to be the end of you. I want to be the beginning,” he whispers, his voice a quiet, luscious roll across my eardrums.
“What are you doing to me?” I ask, my fingers working over the taut muscles of his shoulders, holding him to me as he wrecks me, like I might fall or disappear if he lets go.
“ That is what I was thinking,” he confesses, his lips making their way back to mine. “What are you doing to me?”
He kisses me once more, words and tongues and moans tangling together, fusing into a maelstrom of sensation.
But then, all too soon or maybe not soon enough, he’s pulling back. He’s setting me on my feet in reality. I keep firmly closed eyes that can’t see, as that’s my only way to stave off that reality.
“If I don’t go right this minute, I won’t be leaving until morning.”
“Don’t I have a say in that?”
“Would you say no?”
“Right now? No, I don’t think I could.”
I think he’s smiling again, but I don’t raise a hand to confirm. My arms weigh too much, so I let them hang limply at my sides.
“ That is why I’m leaving.”
I exhale slowly, a sigh of both disappointment and relief. Some small place in the back of my mind knows that if this happens, when it happens, life will change for me. The woman I am right now, Evian de Champlain, will cease
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