Page 25 of Red Hot Harmony

I spun around, our faces nearly brushing, our eyes meeting under a shimmering stream from the porch light that had automatically come on when we walked up to the house.

There was a tree nearby and the soft shadows that licked the planes of his face were from the leaves moving in the wind. I saw him swallow, the slow bob of his throat, the rapid thrum of the vein in his neck, a flicker of struggle in his gaze. Then he raised his arm above my shoulder and pushed the door open.

His body nudged mine back and we awkwardly tumbled inside. The porch light outlined his silhouette as we shuffled deeper into the room until he paused to shut the door, plunging us into momentous obscurity.

My heart thudded against my breastbone.

I felt his hands on my face, large, warm, and calloused. “I don’t suppose you know what you’re doing.” He smelled of watermelon and expensive cologne. Such a strange combination, but on him it was good.

“Not really.”

“Me neither,” he confessed.

“The bedroom is that way.” I motioned at the stretch of hallway behind me, my eyes finally getting used to the dark, finally seeing the shape of him moving along with me.

Dante caught the corner of the shelf and cursed, then laughed at his own clumsiness. The sound of his voice, deep and raspy and incredibly sensual, seemed to fill every crack and crevice of my house, splashing itself over the walls, floorboards, and windows.

Marking them.

Once we were inside my bedroom, the moment of stillness between us expanded, turning into something agonizing. Unable to bear it any longer, I cupped his face and kissed him.

He walked me backward until my legs connected with the bed frame and the mattress above it. My world suddenly tilted and we fell. It wasn’t slow or graceful, nothing like in the movies or in books. More of a lewd twisting of limbs. His knee between my thighs, my arm around his neck.

Dante amped up the kisses. They were hungry and powerful. His hand trailed along the curve of my body, from my hip bone to my chest, and I felt how truly wonderful his fingers were, how they curled and stroked and pressed.

A moan pushed past my lips, meeting his gasp. He took it as encouragement and shifted above me, the denim rubbing against my center provocatively.

My thighs opened. An invitation.

He moved and adjusted his weight, the glide and push of his body creating a perfect rhythm. Slow and heated and intimate.

My hips bucked, needing more, needing to freeze the sensation for safekeeping. For later.

“You don’t strike me as someone who doesn't know what she’s doing,” Dante whispered in the hollow of my neck, his voice raw and guttural, curling around my core.

“I’m just—” The words never came out, because I forgot what I wanted to say. His lips slid over my collarbone and to my horror, I realized my top was unbuttoned, my chest and stomach on full display.

When did that happen?I thought, but the question didn’t remain long, because it didn’t matter, because these clothes were bound to leave me one way or another.

Dante was very skilled at making things disappear.

“You’re what?” he asked, his lips trailing along the slant of my shoulder, pushing the fabric covering my skin aside, lower.

“I haven’t—” My pulse spiked. I was aware of where every inch of our bodies molded together, where a dip met a curve, where the weight pressed a bit harder, where the first hints of sweat saturated the cotton and wet the hair. “It’s been a long time since—”

He paused, his kisses becoming hot breaths, his face level with mine.

In the dim light of the bedroom, his gaze had a stormy, dangerous quality to it. “How long?” he asked.

“Very long.” I slipped my hands around his back, feeling the tight ridges of muscles there, the tension that spread to his shoulders and arms.

“It’s absolutely not a deal-breaker.” His whisper was softer, and I thought I heard a smile.

“I know it’s not, but…” A sigh. “Sometimes, I wonder if I’ve forgotten how to do this, how to be with a man.”

“You know what they say.” The corner of his mouth curled up as he touched my bottom lip with his thumb. “Sex is like a bicycle. Once you learn how to ride, you’re set for life.”

“Really?” The innuendo was obvious and it only fed into my curiosity and my burning desire.

---