Page 36 of Playing Her Game

"And what does?"

She tilts her head slightly.

"Hands. The right kind of pressure in the right place. Someone who figures out what works and doesn't rush past it the second I respond."

"You've been rushed in the past."

It's not a question.

Something flickers across her face.

"More than once."

I reach out and brush a strand of hair back from her shoulder, slow enough that she can track every inch of it. Her breath shifts, just barely. She doesn't look away.

"I also like being told what someone wants," she says, quieter now. "Directly. Not hinted at. Not performed. Just said out loud like it's not a big deal."

"What do you want right now?" I ask.

Her chin lifts slightly. "I asked you first."

“I’m more of an action guy than words. You want me to show you, just say the words.”

“Words.” she says.

I close the remaining distance between us and bring my mouth to the side of her neck, not kissing yet, just close enough that she can feel the warmth of my breath against her skin. I stay there. She goes very still.

Then I press my lips to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, slow, deliberate. No rush. I feel her exhale.

I bring one hand up to her jaw, tilting her head to the side, giving myself more of her neck to work with. My thumb traces the line of her jaw as I drag my lips upward, stopping just below her ear.

"Still paying attention," I say against her skin.

Her hand comes up to the front of my shirt. Not pulling. Just holding.

I move my hands to her waist and lift her onto the counter in one clean motion, stepping between her knees before she can close them. She's at eye level now. I take her face in both hands and finally kiss her, slow and deliberate, exactly the way I'd been thinking about it. I feel her fingers curl into my shirt.

I pull back just enough to look at her.

Her lips are parted. Her chest is rising and falling faster than before.

I slide one hand from her jaw down the side of her neck, past her collarbone, and rest it flat against her sternum, feeling her heartbeat against my palm.

"There it is," I say quietly.

Her eyes drop to my mouth again, then come back up.

I move my hand lower, fingers spreading across her ribs, and watch her face. When I reach the hem of her shirt and slip my hand underneath, running my thumb slowly along the strip of skin above her waistband, her breath catches. Not loud. Just a small, sharp intake.

I don't move past it.

I stay there, tracing the same line back and forth, watching what it does to her. Her fingers tighten in my shirt. Her chin tilts down slightly, like she's trying to stay composed and losing the argument.

"You went still," I say.

"I noticed you noticing," she says, her voice quieter than before.

I lean in and kiss her again, deeper this time, one hand still beneath her shirt, the other sliding into her hair. She makes a small sound against my mouth and shifts forward on the counter, closing the last inch between us.