Page 38 of Dining for Love

“The British dude talking right now?” I ask, tearing my gaze away from her luscious thighs. Then I throw on my best accent. “Willa’s chosen to bake a three-tiered Chantilly cake with a cream and cherry compote.”

Willa laughs. “That’s a terrible impression of him.”

And finally, I can’t take it anymore. I’ve managed to control myself all day, and frankly, I deserve a damn medal for it. It’s been Olympic levels of restraint. I close the distance on the couch, the doilies on the back of the cushions framing us rather perfectly. “Willa.”

She hiccups.

I smile. Eventhatis so fucking adorable. “Can I kiss you?”

Her hesitation lasts a fraction of a second. “Yes,” she rasps.

“Thank fuck.” On a sigh, I pull her to me.

Chapter 12

Willa

REID IS KISSING me. Again. Angels are singing, and Reid is kissing me.

You’d think I’d be used to this by now. It’s the third time.

I am nowhere near used to it.

No one gets used to this kind of kiss, and if they do, good for them, but that is most definitely not me.

How a man like him wants someone like me is a mystery that I will never solve. But for now, I give in to it. I let myself drown in the feel of his arms around me, the scratchy fabric of the old couch on my skin, his masculine scent, all of it overwhelming in the best way as I sigh into him.

He groans. “Willa, you’re killing me.”

He tastes like the lemonade I made him, tart yet sweet. He tilts my head, his hand on my chin, taking sips of me the same way he sipped the drink.

ButI’mkillinghim? Dude. A heavy ache settles in my core, and my breasts are taut with want. “Not as much as you’re killing me, Reid MacKinnon.”

He sucks in a breath and pulls back, his eyes a dark emerald,blown with lust so that I can barely see the rim of his irises. “I need to taste you, Willa.”

A shiver snakes through me.

He frowns. “Are you cold?”

I shake my head, another shiver wracking my body.

He pulls me on top of him with a sinful growl, my knees bracketing his hips as his strong arms encircle me once more. There’s no mistaking the bulge in his jeans, and it’s instinctual to rock against it.

He shifts beneath me, gently meeting my thrusts. “Fuck, Willa.” His hands slip up the loose fabric of my shirt, lightly grazing my overheated skin. My eyes roll back in my head as my breath hitches, the sensation almost too much to bear.

“So silky,” he murmurs, nipping at my lips before claiming them again as he wraps his hands around my breasts.

We moan together, the sound ratcheting my arousal up another notch. He runs his thumbs over my nipples, and I arch into him, lifting and pressing my hips against the fabric of his jeans.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Willa,” he says, exhaling a ragged breath. “I—fuck.”

“Same,” I manage back. I rip my top off, clumsy as always, but so desperate for him to have as much of me as he wants that I can’t be bothered to care. I claw at his shirt, whimpering. “Off. Please.”

He pushes up enough for me to pull the fabric off, and then his skin is against mine, and I’m delirious because, holy cow, this man.

His lips are on my neck, hot and wet. “Fucking pajamas, Willa. All day with the pajamas,” he growls, his lips traveling down as his hand snakes up to pull my hair out of its ponytail.

I throw my head back, absolutely lost to the sensation of being seduced by him. The feel of his mouth as it travels down my collarbone and stops, nipping and sucking, is next level. Whokisses like this? I understand now that I have never been kissed. Not really. Not in any way that counts.

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