Page 84 of Sex Positive

She can’t speak, so she nods, and he presses his mouth to hers.

His lips are soft and pliant and full, and she feels an immediate sense of rightness. Because his mouth feels so much better than she ever imagined.

She leans into him, wanting to taste him, wantingmore, and he opens her mouth with a soft moan. Heat shoots through her center, and he buries his fingers in her curls, a shock of unfamiliar pleasure zipping through her when he tugs gently.

Sinking into the kiss, she sighs into his mouth. When he runs his tongue along her bottom lip, she gasps, dizzy and breathless. This is entirely unlike every kiss she’s had before, unlike the prickly unease of Nash’s touch.

Pulling away first, she opens her eyes, their lips still close enough that she feels him tremble.

He exhales shakily. “There.” He watches her like she holds all the answers, wearing a smile she hasn’t glimpsed in years, so different from his signature self-assured smirk. “How was that?”

Her palm is pressed to his chest, and she can feel his heart pounding. Slowly, like he’s afraid he’ll spook her, his fingers trace the bones of her wrist before he laces their fingers together. Her apartment fades away. He shifts closer, tilting her chin up again, and her skin tingles with anticipation, her body blooming with heat.

She wants this. She wants more. She wantshim.

Just this once.

Shifting onto her knees, she initiates this time, pressing her lips to his. His body tenses with surprise.

Pulling away, she whispers, “I think you can do better than that.”

It’s as if her words release him from an invisible leash. Capturing her mouth again, he kisses her like a man starved. When he groans, she chases it greedily, surging forward, slinging her leg over his thighs, straddling his hips. His fingers tangle in her curls, deepening their kiss before he drags a hand down her spine, and when she arches against it, rolling her hips over him, he moans into her mouth.

“Fuck, Rogers.” His lips explore her throat, his teeth grazing her pulse point. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.”

A small whimper escapes her when he pulls her shirt down with his teeth, his tongue dragging over her collarbone.

“Don’t—” she gasps. Because she needs his handseverywhere. “Don’t stop.Please.”

Just this once.

If she weren’t so turned on, she’d be embarrassed by the plea. When he cups her breasts, heat pools between her legs, and when she tightens her thighs and rocks her core against him, the pressure from his arousal is obvious, delicious, enticing. A moan spills from her lips.

Sliding her hands up his chest, she wraps them around his neck. Breathing him in, she luxuriates in his palms sliding down her waist, his fingers gripping her hips, pressing her against him. She rakes her fingers through his hair—his fuckinghair—and relishes the small groan he lets out when her nails scrape across his scalp.

She wants him closer, wants to make the small sighs he’s breathing into her mouth louder, wants him to take care of the incredible ache between her legs, wants his body on hers, his skin sliding over hers.

His palms skate under the thin material of her shirt, dancing up her rib cage, as his lips explore more of her throat.

Just this once.

She claws at his sweatshirt, desperate for the skin underneath. Tugging it over his head, she spreads her hands across his broad chest, trying to touch as much of him as possible.

Grinding her hips against him, she whines, “Wes, please. I need—”

He responds by freeing her shirt from her body, and she’s topless in front of him for the first time. She hardly has time to process this before his mouth claims a taut nipple, pulling fire from her veins and a moan from her lips.

“You were saying?” he growls against her skin before flipping her onto her back. He settles between her legs, pressing himself to her center, her hips cradling his, and she loses herself in the feel of him. She gasps at the sensation of his hard length, at his groan when she writhes her core against him.

“So sensitive,” he breathes, nipping her jaw. “God, I love how responsive you are.”

He drags down her leggings, pulling her underwear with them, before kneeling between her legs, his gaze traveling leisurely over her, and she’s certain she will erupt into flames from the raw heat in his eyes. She never knew she could feel so desired.

He grins—she needs that clever mouth everywhere—before pressing his mouth to her stomach, dragging his hands, rough with callouses, over her breasts.

As he looks up at her from between her legs, a question in his eyes, his hands grip her hips. “I want to taste you.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to her hip bone. “Please, Charlie? Let me make you feel good.”

She needs him, needsthis.