Page 6 of Size Doesn't Matter

“How could you lose?”

The way she suddenly dropped her gaze and sank her teeth into her bottom lip in a show of bashful pleasure was like catnip to a man like him, the submissive gesture combined with the pale blush staining her cheeks making his cock as hard as a steel pipe. Making him want to pull her even closer and steal her breath with a hard kiss.

But before he could pull her close again, tilt his head, and close the tiny distance that would bring his mouth crashing down on hers, a burst of excitement rose up from the party inside, and the sound of people chanting, counting down the seconds to midnight, filled the air.

And ruined the moment.

Sophie turned her head to glance inside the ballroom. “Sounds like it’s time.”

“Yes,” he agreed, then lifted one hand from her hip to stroke his fingertips over her jaw, gently turning her to face him again. “May I kiss you, Sophie?”

Her attention focussed back on him, she smiled, seemingly surprised that he’d bothered to ask, then nodded. “Yes. Please.”

Jack slid his hand from her face to the nape of her neck, pulled her close, and angled his mouth over hers. “Happy New Year, Sophie,” he murmured.

“Happy New Year, Jack.”

Inside, the revellers cried, “Happy New Year,” and began singing a drunken rendition of “Auld Lang Syne”, but when his lips met hers, all sound disappeared into the background, and there was only her. Only Sophie and the soft mewling she made as she pressed her body closer, slid her hands over his shoulders, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Clung to him as he parted her lips and tasted crisp champagne on her tongue.

He had no idea how long they stayed like that—it could have been years for all Jack knew or cared. Time ceased to exist, faded into the ether along with everything that wasn’t her. Her warmth, her softness, the strong yet languid stroke of her silken tongue as it slid against his. These were the things that filled Jack’s world now, that consumed it.

And him.

He wanted—needed—more of her.

He neededallof her.

Not just a single kiss on a balcony on New Year’s Eve.

He wanted her in his bed, stretched out under his body as he took his pleasure in her and made her scream. Or maybe she would moan his name instead, her heated breath quiet and soft in his ear as she came.

He needed to know.

Jack tightened his grip on her neck, ensuring she couldn’t escape him, then slid his other hand from her hip to her luscious arse and squeezed. Forced their bodies closer, pressed his aching erection against her soft belly.

Sophie’s mewling turned to moaning, and her tongue lashed against his as their kiss grew more frenzied. Her fingers speared into the hair at his nape, her fingernails scoring his flesh. She tilted her hips and rocked her body against his, creating the most erotic friction. It was torture. Sweet, heavenly torture.

But it still wasn’t enough.

Pulling his mouth away from hers, Jack dragged Sophie into the shadowy corner he’d occupied earlier, away from the lights and the noise of the party, cocooning them in cosy darkness. “More,” he demanded, yanking her back into his arms as he leaned against the brick wall, protecting her from the rough surface as he thrust his knee between her legs, wedging them apart.

“Jack,” she murmured, a desperate edge permeating her luscious voice. “Yes. More.”

Their mouths collided in another violent ballet of passionate, blissful indulgence, until the balcony doors flew open and more people spilled from the ballroom, splashing champagne over the decking, laughing, and singing off key.

The interruption caused Sophie to break the kiss, snapping them both out of their tiny, intimate world full of endless possibility and back into the real world full of, well, reality. But no one said it had to stay that way.

The night was young.

The year was new.

Endless possibilities.

Wasn’t that what New Year’s was all about?

Jack watched, fascinated, as Sophie brought her fingertips to the corners of her mouth, touching up her lipstick. He’d seen his mother do it often enough after his father had stolen a kiss to know that’s what she was doing. Her dress had hitched up a few inches, too, the clingy red fabric barely covering that fantastic arse.

Leaning down, he straightened the hem, tugging it down to its usual midthigh length, then smoothed his hands over her hips. He let his gaze roam over her, making sure she looked as gorgeous and as unmolested as she had when she’d come out to the balcony—he checked his watch—Jesus, less than twenty minutes ago.

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