Page 60 of Nine Months to Love
“Someone who gives a damn.” He kisses me again, harder this time. “I can’t sleep without knowing you’re safe. I’m starting to think I lo?—”
He cuts himself off, but I hear the unfinished words anyway.
Starting to think I love you.
I freeze beneath him. I should let that little slip go. It won’t do any of us any good to start dragging that truly unhinged shit out into the open. We’re both too broken to make it work, to fix what’s wrong with us. But on the other hand…
“Say it,” I whisper.
“No.” His jaw tightens as he realizes what he did and what I’m asking. “Not like this. Not when you still don’t trust me.”
“I’m naked in your bed on a yacht in the middle of the ocean. How much more trust do you need?”
“All of it.” His thumb traces my bottom lip. “Every last piece of you.”
“Then maybe you should work harder to earn it.”
“Is that a challenge, Dr. Aster?”
“Maybe.”
“Dangerous game.” His hand skims down my throat. “You sure you want to play?”
“I’m sure I want you to stop talking and start?—”
He silences me with a kiss that steals every thought from my head. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, demanding entry, and I open for him immediately. The taste of him—dark and intoxicating, champagne and sea salt—floods my senses.
“Tell me,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Tell me exactly how you want me to touch you. I want to know everything. Every secret spot that makes you gasp. Every way you’ve ever imagined my hands on you.”
“We’d be here all night,” I confess breathily.
His fingers trail down my sternum, light as butterfly wings. “Start simple. Here?”
He circles my breast, not quite touching where I need him most. The anticipation is killing me. “Higher,” I breathe.
His thumb brushes over my nipple, and I arch into his touch. “Like this?”
“Harder.”
He pinches gently, rolling the peak between his fingers, and a moan escapes before I can stop it.
“Good girl,” he purrs. “See how easy that was? Now, tell me more.”
“I can’t just?—”
“Yes, you can.” His mouth replaces his fingers, and the wet heat of his tongue makes me forget why I was protesting. “You’re a doctor. You know bodies. Tell me about yours.”
I do know bodies—the mechanics, the nerve endings, the physiological responses. But translating that clinical knowledge into words while he’s doing absolutely sinful things with his mouth is something else entirely.
“I like...” I swallow hard as he switches to my other breast. “I like when you use your teeth.”
He immediately complies, grazing the sensitive flesh with just enough pressure to make me gasp. “Where else?”
“My neck. That spot right behind my ear.”
He moves up, finding the spot instantly, and the sensation shoots straight to my core. His stubble scrapes against my skin as he sucks gently, then harder when I thread my fingers through his hair and hold him there.
“What else?” he asks. “Tell me what you think about when you touch yourself.”
