Oughta Be a Movie: a Sugar-&-Spice romantic comedy by Susan Hammond Page A

instead of a bra fastening, his fingers met…more clothes? Was she wearing armor? He pressed his lips against her hair to hide his smile. All the sweeter to strip you bare, sweetness.
    Sliding his hand around her ribcage, he held the weight of one breast in his hand and brushed the tip with his thumb. In spite of the sturdy fabric, she responded. Her nipple pebbled against his finger as her back arched, but he felt her try to tamp down her response. Don’t run, baby. He shifted, one leg between hers, and took their kiss deeper, harder. As their tongues tangled, he slid his hand to her lower back and pressed her against his leg. She curved into him, and he felt the tremors run through her body. So damned responsive.
    Then just like before, she straightened, holding back her body’s reaction. It was torture when he held her tighter against him and rubbed his leg along that sensitive spot. Her mind struggled against what her body wanted, but she couldn’t silence the little noises in her throat. Still, she wasn’t even close to turning off that smart brain and simply letting herself feel. Letting herself take what she wanted. In fact, those brainy molecules were the busiest of them all, and he needed to put those busy mental molecules to work for her.
    Through the heavy fabric, he gave the tip of her breast a pinch as he eased away from her. Her hands gripped his shoulders as she made that throaty sound again. So tempting to just pick her up and carry her to the bed, but he wanted her embracing all the pleasure he could give her, not fighting it.
    “We’re going to play a game.”
    She shook her head and blinked her eyes, trying to focus on him, his words. “A game? You want to play a game right now? Like what?”
    “Think of it as X-rated Truth or Consequences.” Her mouth formed the word ‘oh.’ Her eyes widened. “It’s simple. I ask a question, you have five seconds to answer. Honestly . If you don’t—or won’t—” His finger trailed down between her breasts. “I get to touch you anywhere, any way I want.” He paused and was rewarded with her small gasp when he added, “Or have you touch yourself. And you forfeit your next question.”
    “What about me?”
    “The same.” Her eyes shifted from side-to-side as she debated. Push, pull. Expose herself or not. Trust him or not. Do this, don’t do this. But her eyes were even darker than before. She clearly wanted to play, but he held his breath, waiting for her response.
    “Okay.”
    “One more thing.” He watched her eyes, wondering if she’d retreat again at his next words. Brushing his thumbs on the underside of her heavily shielded breasts, he added, “This is a sexy, dirty game. You play naked.”
    Her eyes, still half closed with arousal, flew open. “You want me to take off my clothes?”
    “Yes.”
    “What about you?”
    Ben stepped back and leaned on the edge of the desk, his hands braced beside him, legs extended. “I watch.”
    Her mouth opened, but no words came out. A parade of expressions marched across her face—arousal, embarrassment, indecision. He was holding his breath again until she looked at him and reached for the bottom of her t-shirt. When she pulled it up high enough to slip her thumbs inside the waistband of her shorts, he sucked air so quickly she must have heard. But watching her shimmy out of those gym shorts until they dropped to the floor was enough to stop his breathing again.
    She grasped the hem of her t-shirt, but this time she pulled it over her head and tossed it aside. White cotton panties—boy shorts. And the sports bra he’d expected. What he hadn’t expected was the crazy combination of purple checks with gray-and-white stripes, a turquoise zipper, and black trim.
    Perfectly Ali. No artifice, no black lace, no planned seduction. Just her.
    When her hand went to the front zipper, he shifted, trying to get more comfortable. Lowering the zipper slowly, she never took her eyes off his, only glancing down