Page 49 of Make You Mine

Giving me what I need with his touch. Hard yet gentle. A delicious overtaking.

My tongue swipes the very tip of his, flicking it before pulling back to suck his top lip, and a hungry groan escapes him. It tumbles through me, settling on my clit, and I throb—squeezing my thighs tight as my panties become slick with my arousal.

I’m wet and tender. For him. All for him.

My nipples ache, and I can’t stop myself from rubbing my chest against his. This time his animalistic sound is almost angry and I shiver, shifting closer, and there’s no mistaking the hardness now digging into my abdomen.

How it pulses, flexing against the inside of his jeans the more we kiss.

My hands itch to touch him. To explore.

“Oh God,” I whimper, and that small sound stops him. It’s like a bucket of cold water being thrown over my head; the way he abruptly pulls his mouth from mine makes me feel like an idiot. Like I ruined everything. Elijah doesn’t release his hold on my head, though, but instead stares down at me, making me feel self-conscious. “I’m so?—”

“Don’t.” It’s gravelly. So hungry. “I’m not.”

“You’re not?”

“Not even a little.” His thumb rubs across my cheek once while his other hand takes one of mine, squeezing my fingers slightly. “But one thing at a time. How about dinner and some light get-to-know-you conversation before I kiss you again?”

“Again?” I raise a brow, and the tension in my shoulders drops. He’s being playful; that’s a good thing, and I follow his lead. “I made the first move.”

“That’s only because I let you.”

“Are you kidding me?” My blue eyes narrow, my teeth aching to bite him again. Harder.

“What can I say? I’m irresistible.” With that, he brings his lips to mine once more in a quick and soul-destroying kiss before pulling back. I’m a bit dazed after—smiling—but ready to smack him when he winks. “Now, feed me, woman. I want to cuddle with you on the couch and watch a movie afterward.”

I’m so easy when it comes to him that holding myself back is nearly impossible after that first taste.

I’m truly and utterly screwed here.

Watchinghim enjoy the meal I made is sexual torture.

I’m sitting at the head of the table with Elijah to my right, a placement chosen for me while I was busy changing my shirt. I also couldn’t argue with his nonsensical seating arrangement, especially with that devilish smirk and challenging gaze aimed at me.

The cook always has special privileges, sweetheart. Get used to it.

I was about to ask about those “privileges” when Eli shook his head and led me to my chair before taking his seat. He’s so close. His scent enveloped me.

Which led me to my current predicament...

Watching this man enjoy the food I made is downright a sinful experience. Almost as panty-destroying as our earlier kisses.

Every compliment. Every moan.

Even the grunts between serving himself a second and third helping aren’t conducive to good behavior on my part.

I want to climb onto his lap and taste that mouth again, especially as he lifts the bottle of imported beer and takes a deep pull. The way his throat bobs with each swallow makes my thighs clench, and I barely remain seated as he licks the stray drop of Dos Equis sitting at the corner of his lips.

It makes me want to lick him from root to tip. Taste him everywhere.

Behave. We can’t. Must resist.

Exhaling slowly, I eat another forkful of my green enchilada. The bite is fiery, a tangy explosion with its smoky pepper sauce that clings to the soft, corn tortilla. The intense heat builds: apleasant zing that melds perfectly with the seasoned, shredded chicken and the Oaxaca cheese.

Then, there’s the refreshing crema. It compliments and cools my tingly lips, making for a dangerous combination.

I want more. I should be devouring my meal.

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