The Sweet Under His Skin by Portia Gray Page A

closer her hands fisted the fabric of his shirt, and he knew she didn't realize she had done it.
    She was staring at him. It was making him warm. Making him hard, actually. But he wasn't going to focus on that. He could see her bottom lip was still wet from where she'd licked it, and he pulled her right to him, the mouth that met his sweeter than that store-bought birthday cake.
    Something kept him in check, and for some reason nibbling at her like soft-serve ice-cream was more than he thought he deserved. The repetitive motion of brushing his lips on hers, the way she would catch his lower lip between hers, all of it was an amazing give and take. Sure he had her crushed to him, immobilized in his grip, but she had him ensnared.
    He parted his mouth from hers reluctantly, to say the least, and gazed down on her. Her face was slack, pink, and she had to blink her eyes a few times to see straight. That was a hell of an ego boost.
    Quentin waited for her to tell him what to do. Whether it was to tell him to fuck off, kiss her again, carry her to bed, or kiss her feet—he was going to do it.
    But with those flushed cheeks, breathy voice and fucking cute face Arielle didn't tell him what to do. She just whispered, "Quentin," which made him take her mouth again, moaning to finally have his hand in that fucking gorgeous hair, barely believing how warm and alive it was.
    To further shock the hell out of him, her tongue swept along his lip, making his arm around her back tighten. Enthusiastically his tongue slid along hers, and her mouth opened to allow him access. Quentin didn't even know a woman could do this with just a kiss. With her hands clutching him, her chest soft against his, her tongue giving as good as it was getting, he would do anything she wanted. Anything. Just to keep her kissing him like this.
    He wanted this taste in his mouth for all time. He wanted her smell in his nose always. He wanted the feel of her breasts and arms and stomach available to his senses whenever he felt like it. He wanted to own every part of her he could.
    "Oh, I'm sorry. Excuse me." Arielle flew from his grip like a magic trick, turning towards the sink as Aunt Thelma padded on the linoleum to the fridge. "I'll just get my glass of milk and, uh, go to bed."
    It was painfully awkward to stand there with a raging hard-on and racing heart while Aunt Thelma poured some milk, gave them both a smile, then shuffled back to the other room.
    He waited a beat, then said quietly, "Arielle—"
    "You should go," she suggested, not turning around. "I'm sorry, that's rude but…you should go."
    He nodded, hands on his hips. "Right."
    "Quentin—"
    "No, you're right. You've got a lot on your mind."
    She turned then, and he wasn't unhappy to see her cheeks were still rosy and her eyes shone bright. "I…I liked that. I did." He knew she did, he was there for it. "But things are about to get weird for me."
    Quentin nodded. "I can't imagine, babe."
    "You said you'd help any way you could."
    "And I will." Jesus, was that really him, desperate to be told he's a good boy?
    "I need you to be a shoulder for Calvin. He won't tell me when something's bothering him, he doesn't want to worry me. But he'll tell you, I know he will. I love that he's coming out of his shell with you. I really like how…you are with him. I can’t give him what you can as a man. So can you be that for him?"
    Quentin nodded, rubbing his chin. "Of course. I was already gonna be there for him, Arielle. We'll build the bike, he'll still have some fun kid-stuff this summer. And if his aunt needs anything," he said low, stalking to her slowly, noticing how her chest rose with her deep inhale as he did it. "I'll be here for that, too. Okay?"
    She was arching back over the counter to keep distance between them, but it was thrusting her chest towards him. He kept his eyes on her face; it was a struggle but he toughed it out.
    "Okay," she whispered, nodding.
    "I liked that too," he admitted after a