Page 64 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar
And this? Him?
Alex?
That strange floating head who, now that I think about it, looks suspiciously like the guy on the Date to Mate app?
All of this is what straightened it out.
“Say it,” I whisper.
His lips brush mine, reverent and soft.
“You’re mine, Tamare. My fated mate. And I’m yours.”
Oh.
Wow!
Well, shit.
I might be in trouble.
But maybe it’s the good kind.
I swallow hard, the air thick between us.
He’s still so close.
His gold-flecked eyes are locked on mine, fingertips cradling my face like I’m something precious. Wanted.
And I don’t think I’ve ever had that.
My heart stutters.
My body leans in before my brain catches up.
Or maybe it’s my soul making the first move.
Because when his mouth brushes mine again, it’s not careful or questioning.
It’s hungry.
A soft moan escapes me as I kiss him back with everything I’ve been holding in—every secret look, every whispered longing, every night I’ve lain in that guest room, silently aching to crawl into his.
He groans, deep and guttural, like the sound is being pulled from his chest.
And then he’s kissing me like he needs me to breathe.
Like this is more than just a kiss.
Like this is everything.
When he finally pulls back, I’m panting. Dazed. Needing.
“Tamare,” he rasps, forehead pressed against mine, voice shredded with restraint. “I’ll sleep on the couch. Just say the word.”
It takes a full second for his words to land.
The couch?
