Page 113 of Once Upon A Small Town Secret
This time, the kiss goes on and on, soft and sweet, until his hand slides higher on my thigh, and the pressure changes, and the urgency climbs, and the heat between us threatens to burn me alive.
We break apart, gasping.
"I want you," he says, his eyes steady on mine, his mouth kiss-swollen. "I want all of you. But if you want to wait—"
"Ben, I'm pregnant. I think it's a little late for waiting."
He grins, a little smug. "That's true."
"I think the only question is, here or home?"
His brows go up, and a slow smile spreads across his face.
"You know," he says, his eyes going dark, "that is a really excellent question."
And then, like he knows exactly how far he can push me, his hand slides higher on my thigh, and squeezes.
I lean into him, and the table groans.
"I'm going to guess this isn't designed for strenuous use," I say.
He smiles, pushes the chair back, and stands.
I look up, and he hooks a hand under my elbow and draws me to my feet.
The air is electric. My heart hammers against my ribs.
I don't have time to be embarrassed by my eagerness, because he's kissing me again, and backing me toward the counter, sliding a hand up the front of my shirt.
"Kitchen," I gasp, breaking the kiss. "Too many windows in here."
His eyes glitter, and his smile turns wicked. "Let's put that big counter to good use."
I pull him toward the back, and he follows.
"You know," he says, and kisses the back of my neck, making me shiver.
"What?"
"I think this is the best business meeting I've ever had."
I can't stop a laugh. "Shut up, Ben."
"Yes, ma'am," he says, and spins me around, and backs me against my prep table.
He slides his hands up under my shirt, his palms calloused and strong. I tug at the hem of his shirt, and he lifts his arms to help, and I drag it off and drop it, and press my palms to the hot, smooth skin of his back.
He tugs at my shirt, and I lift my arms, and he breaks the kiss to pull it off.
"Paige," he breathes, his eyes on me, and his fingers trace the lace edge of my bra, and my spine arches.
He kisses the side of my neck, the hollow of my throat, the top of each breast, his mouth burning and reverent.
I fumble with his belt and get the button undone, and slide the zipper down, and his mouth goes to my ear.
"Paige," he whispers, "we can go slow if you want."
I hook my fingers in the waistband of his jeans and yank, and his laugh is low and dark, his breath hot.
