Page 60 of The Art of You

He frowned. Not the most encouraging sign. I should’ve just fisted his shirt and kissed him, never giving him a chance to doubt anything.

“I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to change, but?—”

“There are no guarantees in life, I know that.” I reached between us and set both hands on his chest. His heart was flying even faster than mine.

“Five seconds,” he offered through barely parted teeth.

“Five Mississippi seconds?” I arched my brow.

“I reckon that’s the only way to count, isn’t it?”

His raspy tease had me bunching his shirt. I was on the verge of losing it if he didn’t kiss me soon. I was trying to be ladylike and let this man take the lead, but so help me . . .

Remaining in the doorway as we held each other’s eyes felt like we were caught between two directions of where things may go with us.

This image burned into my head like a sketch happening in real time. I could see my hand racing over the canvas. His body. Mine. The two of us existing here as living art, neither talking nor moving, just existing.

This was my blank canvas coming to life. My fresh start. I just had to take it.

“Ready for me?” Those three words had been a lifetime in the making.

I nodded, and he took his sweet, Southern time. Mouth hovering before mine. And then he did it. Claimed me.

The second our lips touched, the picture in my mind of us in the doorway went from black and white to full-blown color. And when his tongue licked at the seam of my lips, seeking permission to further send me over the edge, I gave it to him.

He groaned as I parted for him, and he swallowed my breathy cry.

Arching into him, I let go of his shirt to slide my hands under the material. Desperate, achy need had me running my fingers over the ridges of muscle, and his abdomen flexed beneath my touch.

Deepening the kiss, turning it from gentlemanly to fucking my mouth with his tongue, he rolled his hips forward. His hard-on strained against his sweatpants. His free hand went to my side, thumbing down the waistband of my shorts, simply smoothing his fingers over my skin there.

The kiss had taken on a life of its own. His hand wandered up my silhouette beneath my loose tee, and he cupped mybreast. When he rolled my nipple between his finger and thumb, I tipped my chin back, gasping for air.

“Oh, God,” I whispered before he dropped his mouth over mine, as if already missing it.

I was greedy for more. For his hands and lips to explore every inch of my body.

He removed his hand from my shirt and trailed his fingers along my collarbone. When his mouth left mine, I opened my eyes to find him locking his hand around the column of my throat. He was gently holding me, both of us breathing hard while staring into each other’s eyes.

Holy hell.

He growled out a curse or two and hissed, “I need five more seconds.”

I opted not to share we’d definitely already sailed beyond those first five at least thirty seconds ago.

He let go of my neck and set his mouth along my jaw. Trailing kisses in a path to the shell of my ear as he squeezed my ass. His other hand was no longer on the doorframe but on my other ass cheek. He sunk his fingertips into my flesh, drawing me flush against his cock, and I rotated my hips, grinding against him.

“Tell me to stop,” he demanded in my ear.

“Don’t stop,” I begged instead, grasping the back of his neck, desperate for the barriers of our clothes to be gone.

“You’re killing me.” He seized hold of my wrist and guided me to the vanity, lifting me up onto the counter. Scooting me closer to the edge, he hooked my legs around his waist, and growled, “Five more seconds,” before slanting his mouth over mine.

I dug my fingertips into his back as I continued to rock against his crotch, ignoring the fabric between us. I could comefrom his expert tongue guiding mine and the friction between us alone.

He thrusted right back, as if his cock was already inside me, holding my face hostage between his big hands. As he devoured me, the colors continued to explode all around us.

He let go of my face and dragged his lips over to my ear. “If you don’t stop me,” he pleaded in a low, guttural tone, “I will fuck you right here on this counter. I don’t want that happening.”

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