Page 42 of Mile High Ex's Dad
His hand stays on my wrist. “I know.”
He doesn’t let go.
The room feels very small all of a sudden. The bed behind me. The closed curtains. The rain at the window. His body close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him, close enough that the scent of him is all over the air now, dark and clean and male.
I should step back.
I don’t.
He releases my wrist slowly, but instead of moving away, he lifts his hand to my face. His knuckles skim my cheek. My jaw. The touch is almost nothing, and it still sends a shiver through me.
His eyes drop to my mouth.
Mine drop too. That’s the mistake.
One second we’re standing there breathing the same air, both of us knowing exactly how bad an idea this is, and the next he’s closing the distance between us. One hand goes to the back of my neck. The other braces against the wall beside my head as he backs me into it, and then his mouth is on mine.
I gasp into the kiss.
He takes that sound and deepens it immediately, kissing me like he’s been holding it back by force and has finally run out of patience. Hot, hungry, relentless. His hand tightens at my neck, not hurting, just keeping me there while he slants his mouth over mine and takes what he wants.
I kiss him back before I can think.
God help me, I kiss him back hard.
All the shock and fear and humiliation of the night collapse into this one terrible, perfect mistake. My hands clutch at his shirt. His body presses in close, solid and warm and overwhelming, and everything about him is too much in exactly the way I remember.
He makes a low sound into my mouth when I open for him, something rough and pleased that goes straight through me.
I’m shaking again, but for a different reason now.
His mouth leaves mine only long enough to drag down my jaw and into the line of my throat. I tip my head back against the wall and give him room without even meaning to. His lips press against my skin once, twice, then his teeth catch lightly and I make a helpless sound.
“Sienna,” he says against my throat.
The way he says my name makes my knees weak.
I slide my hands up into his hair, and that seems to undo something in him. He kisses me again, harder this time, his body crowding mine, his thigh pushing between my legs just enough to make me feel how badly I want more.
This is insane. This is the worst idea I’ve ever had.
And I can’t make myself stop.
My robe is falling open. His hand leaves the wall and slides down my side, over my waist, pulling me closer. I can feel how turned on he is, hard and hot against me, and the knowledge of it makes me dizzy.
His palm moves lower, spanning my middle as he kisses me again.
Then he freezes.
The change is instant. His mouth stills against mine, his hand stops, and his whole body goes rigid. For one awful second, I don’t understand why.
Then I do.
His hand is resting on the curve of my belly.
Not just resting, feeling. Really feeling it.
He pulls back just enough to look down between us, then back up at my face. I see the exact moment the thought lands. The exact moment disbelief collides with certainty. His hand stays where it is.
