Page 60 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Oh, and snoring? When you’re with me, we’ll both be too damn tired to even worry if you’re snoring, so that’s a moot point. But, uh, nice try.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” His grin is lightning quick as he leans in and brushes his lips ever so tenderly against mine. It’s achingly soft and causes a warmth to spread from my center out, seep into every fiber of my being, and then leave me a little shell-shocked and wanting more. “You smell good,” he murmurs.

“Ewww. I haven’t showered since my run today. I was sidelined by the same person who’s telling me I smell good, so I’m quite sure something is wrong with you.”

He chuckles, and then surprises me by placing an open mouth kiss on my neck and then licking a line up to just beneath my earlobe. The sensation, the act, the everything about it is like a livewire exposed to water. “You taste salty. And all I smell is your shampoo.” He tugs on my earlobe with his teeth, and that slow, sweet ache between my thighs burns bright. “Sweat on you is sexy.”

“Men.” I laugh and push against his chest, all the while enjoying the feeling of him sinking against me.

“I offered you the shower.”

“Yeah, well, good thing I didn’t take it, or else I’d have been standing in your kitchen in a robe or one of your T-shirts when your dad showed up, and we both know how that would have looked.”

“He won’t say anything to anyone.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I kind of like the idea of what you’d look like in my T-shirt.”

I can’t resist. I lean forward and take the initiative by kissing him soundly on the lips. It surprises him. But I love that he lets me take the lead. I love that he allows me to control the depth and the demand and the softness of it. I pour everything that I’m feeling but can’t express into our connection.

We shift some, but the pace never quickens, the urgency nonexistent; it’s just us, with a setting sun at our backs and the fortunes from our cookies crinkling on the couch when we move. No hands wander, no fingers itch to touch more, because our lips, and everything their connection evokes, is simply enough.

It’s intoxicating. It’s unexpected. It’s everything in a kiss I never knew I needed, and yet somehow knew was missing.

It’s not a means to an end, but rather a slow, sweet seduction of the senses, and when it finally ends—when he leans his forehead against mine, with our breaths feathering over each other’s lips, and our minds trying to process the moment—he speaks.

“I’m going to hate myself for this the minute the words are out of my mouth,” he murmurs.

“Then don’t say it and just kiss me again,” I tease before I lean in and bring my mouth to his.

His groan sounds tortured when after a few seconds he tears his lips from mine , sits back on his haunches, and squeezes his eyes tight before looking back at me. “I don’t think I’ve ever said these words before in my life.”

Now he has my attention. “What words?”

“No.”

“No?” I laugh; the pained look on his face is more than comical. “No to what?”

“No to what I want to do to you right now. Desperately.”

“What do you want to do to me, Easton?” My voice is coy, my eyes inviting.

He clenches his jaw, and the muscle that pulses at its corner is so damn sexy. He laughs, a sound like audible restraint. “I want to fuck you, Scout. I want to take you in my bedroom and make you so tired your body forgets to snore. Okay?”

And now it’s my turn to clench my jaw—and my thighs—together as he stares at me with an intensity that only adds to his allure. “So, why don’t you?”

His smile is half-cocked when he speaks, “Because I made a promise to myself and to you. I told you we were going to get to know each other better, build up some trust, and see where this thing takes us . . . and so that’s what I’m trying to do. Even though, currently, where I really want it to take us is my bed.”

“I don’t know what to say.” I’m flattered. I’m dumbfounded. And, holy hell, how I’m turned on from that kiss and the feeling of his thighs caging mine.

“Tell me you understand the sacrifice I’m making, because right now, all I want is you. Under me. On top of me. Any way with me.”

“Then let’s—”

“You don’t get it, do you? I can see it in your eyes, Scout. I can tell you’re spooked, with one foot out the door and one foot in my bed because it’s easier to be in either of those places than it is to be in this position. The one where you have to talk to me, where you have to let me get to know you better, instead of shying away from it. So even though it’s said under serious protest, the answer is no, we’re not having sex tonight.”