Page 49 of Daring the Defender

He laughs. “I did okay.”

“Sounds like we both had a good night.”

“I can think of a few ways we can make it better.” One of those big hands reaches out for my hip, clamping down and dragging me close. Cupping my face with the other, he tilts my chin and adds, “Don’t you?”

He waits until I nod and his mouth is on mine. It’s just as unexpected, as thrilling, as the last time. I sink into it, intohim, the strength in his jaw, the smooth thrust of his tongue. It’s so good, so delicious, my mind grows foggy and consumed. Is this what it’s always like? How it always feels? I have no experience to know, but it seems unlikely. Otherwise why would you ever stop?

He pulls back and rests his forehead on mine. “I’ve been thinking about that all day.”

He tilts his head to come in again, but I fist my hands in his shirt and pull him to a stop. “My brother is on the other side of that door.”

The sharp line of his nose skims from my ear to my jaw and says, “Your brother is busy,” before capturing my lips again. My brain short circuits, the neurons and synapses fried at the ends, but the image of the girl on the staircase has held firm.

“The girl,” I manage to get out between kisses.

He slows, looking down at me. “What girl?”

“The one you were talking to. The one you invited that works at the clothing boutique.”

“Ah. Nikki. I invited her because Emerson has a huge crush on her.”

“Emerson?”

“Yep.”

I have no idea if it’s true or not, but he’s in here with me and not her. Plus, his mouth tastes so good. He smells so good. Every single thing about this man feels unbelievably good.

Except he pulls back, a small smile playing at his lips. “Wait, are you jealous?”

“No.” I look away, defensively.

“You seem jealous.”

“I don’t know what I am,” I confess. “Or what this is. I’ve never done this before.”

He stills, studying me in a way that makes me even more uncomfortable. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.”

He studies me for a long moment, then he pulls me with him as he drops down on the couch, settling me on his lap. I’m still in the black skinny jeans that I wore to work that I borrowed fromTwyler. His fingers find the ripped slashes along my upper thigh, and he drags the rough pads of his fingers over the exposed skin.

“Fuck,” he says, dragging me over his body. “Your mouth. I can’t get enough of it.”

“Same,” I breathe. I love kissing him too. It’s my new favorite pastime, but his hips thrust up and I feel him. Not just him.It.His erection. Oh God, and against the crotch of the tight jeans I’m wearing it feels amazing. Chasing the sensation, I rock into him again, and his hands push under my shirt rough and warm.

“Woah,” he says, through gritted teeth, “we should…” He inhales and exhales, puffing out his pink cheeks. “We should slow down.”

I let out my own breath, trying to calm my heartbeat and lower back down to his lap. He grimaces, then shifts me back, putting some space between us.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What?” he asks. “Not a chance, GG.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “Why would you ask that?”

I glance between us, my face even redder than before. “You just look like you’re in pain.”

“Ah, yeah no, not pain.” He takes my hand and brushes his lips over my knuckles. “Just sensitive.”

“Okay.” I suddenly feel insecure. My body is wild with emotions. With feelings. With my own sensitivities that border on pain as much as pleasure.

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