Page 85 of Make Me Dream of You

He smiles as his fingers tighten around mine. “We’ll go slow,” he whispers.

My throat tightens. “Slow is good.”

He grins. Then his gaze drops to my mouth. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?”

“No.” My chest heaves with quickening breaths as he leans in.

“Too fucking long.”

Noah comes closer, the tip of his nose touching mine. His thumb on my cheek brushes the corner of my mouth.

His pupils are blown out, his eyes look almost black. My heart is racing. His lips are so close, the heat from his breath makes me shiver.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says.

He is?

The sharp intake of air through my lips is audible.

He’s staring at my mouth, one of his hands slides around into my hair, but he doesn’t move in or pull me closer. It’s like he’s waiting for something.

I breathe out the word, “Yes,” so soft I’m not sure if it wasn’t just in my head.

But he must have heard because he doesn’t hesitate another second. He makes eye contact, his stare hot, needy, and pulls the back of my neck toward him at the same time he tilts his head, eyelids heavy, and lowers his mouth to mine.

His lips are soft, gentle. I don’t want him soft. I need him as greedy for me as I am for him, as I’ve been for years.

I twist my hands into his shirt, urging him further.

I am consumed by him. There is nothing but him and me.

His hand at my lower back pulls me in closer, his other hand in my hair tightens around the back of my neck.

I whimper as I part my lips.

His tongue touches mine, sweet with a hint of maple syrup.

He lets out a sigh and then he’s holding my head, hard-pressed to him as he goes deeper. Heavy breathing. Heart pounding. Devouring me and all my heady moans. Tongues slick. A gasp for air. Arms around me tighter. Closer. Not close enough.

I lean back and he follows me down easily, laying me down on the pillow. Pressing his weight on top of me. Kissing. Panting. I dig my fingers into his back as he sucks my lip between his teeth.

I can barely breathe. I don’t want to breathe if it means we stop kissing.

He presses me harder into the mattress as he trails his fingers up the side of my ribs. His hand is warm and soft as it moves up, grazing the side of my breast.

I hum into his mouth and arch against him. He slows the kiss, his lips soft yet demanding. He sweeps his tongue against mine without hesitation, but yields to my movements, letting me set the pace. The heat of his hand cradles my breast, and he applies gentle pressure.

More. I want more. More of this. More of him. More of everything I’ve never had before.

He rubs the pad of his thumb over my nipple, and it hardens under his touch. He groans, and the sound turns me liquid, warm and melting under him into a puddle of carnal need and desire.

Noah slides his hand down, my body thrumming with each stroke. Down to the hem of my shirt where he plays his fingertips over the bare skin there, just above the waistband of my shorts. It lights me up.

Then, with the lowest rumble from his chest and firm hand, he grips my hip and grinds against me. His erection is hard, the length of it rubbing against the inside of my thigh.

I whimper at the sensation, heat flooding between my legs, the need—the ache—growing by the second.

He breaks the kiss, our noses still touching, our hard, quick breaths filling the inch of space between us. “Is this too much?”

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