I smile. “My worthiness changes based on where you’re sitting?”
She laughs. “You are a very funny man, you know that, William? A very funny, sweet, and gorgeous man.”
God, how I want to kiss her right now. But instead, I settle against the couch, lean my head back and look up at the ceiling while letting out a groan.
“You okay?” she asks. “You keep rubbing your neck and groaning every time you shift in your seat.”
I shrug, embarrassed to tell her that Jordan and Adam beat me down so much that I ache now. “Just a little sore.”
“You’re sore all over?” she asks. There’s a look on her face that I think might be concern, but it’s a weird sort of smile.
“Well, not all over—just in certain muscle groupings.”
“Muscle groupings? Like where? Show me.”
“Well, there’s my right shoulder…”
Before I can point to it, she reaches over and brushes her fingertips on my sore shoulder. “Here?”
“Yes.”
She leans toward me and I can’t help but smell her. It makes my chest tingle whenever I smell that cinnamon scent, and before I realize what she’s doing, she kisses my shoulder. My gaze drops as she pulls back to look at my face and says, “Is that all?”
Without thinking about what I’m going to say—like I’ve been warned so many times that I should do—I blurt out, “What are you doing?”
“I’m kissing it better.” She appears serious, but sometimes she looks that way when she’s being sarcastic.
“You don’t seriously believe that that will make it feel better.” She must be teasing me again. Kissing boo-boos is what mothers do for their small children.
She smiles widely, showing a row of even, white teeth. “It can’t hurt, can it?”
I frown, confused. “Of course it won’t hurt, but—”
“Wil, just show me. Where else does it hurt?”
I hesitate. “Well, my arm hurts, too.”
“Upper arm?” Her fingers press against the exact arm in question. Then she bends and trails kisses from my shoulder down to my elbow. When she makes contact with my bare skin, it feels like icy fire. That’s the only way to describe it. It burns and freezes at the same time. I’m completely aware of every cell of her soft lips that touches the cells of my skin.
My mouth is dry and the region below my belt is feeling uncomfortable.
“Does the soreness stop there?” she says, slowly raising her head to look at me. I notice her face is flushed, like that day we were in my weight room with our shirts off. The day when I touched her breasts and sucked on her nipples, and she made those sounds deep in her throat.
Now she’s trailing more kisses across the inside of my arm, from my elbow to my wrist. She takes my hand in both of hers and brings my palm to her mouth, opening her lips to land hot kisses there.
I can’t breathe. Well, of course I’m breathing or else I’d pass out, but it definitely feels more difficult to do so.
She peeks up at me. “Any other injured areas?”
I’m frozen because I really want to lie to her and make up injured areas. I want her mouth and her hands everywhere. I suddenly feel as if I need them everywhere.
“Um…” I casually point to the base of my neck, remembering how good it felt the last time she kissed me there. With a smile, she leans forward, planting a hot, open-mouth kiss, her tongue snaking out to lick my skin. My heartbeat speeds up. When she pulls away, the place where she kissed feels cold.
My hands move to her back, holding her in place. One of those little sighs escapes her lips and it streaks like lightning right down my spine.
I’m hard as cold-forged steel and have to adjust how I’m sitting in order to relieve the pressure. It feels good and painful all at once. I want this to last for hours, and I want it to end at the same time.
“Does your mouth hurt?”
I suddenly remember the famous scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark when Marion is trying to comfort Indiana Jones. She asks him where it doesn’t hurt, and as he points out body parts, she kisses them. They’re on a ship, kissing, and suddenly it fades to black, but you know that they had sex and it’s not being shown to the viewer.
And even though I didn’t respond, Jenna is kissing me on the mouth now, just like Marion kissed Indy. And just like Indy, I’m not pushing her away. Neither of us are idiots, after all. We both know a good thing when it’s happening to our lips.
My mouth opens and her tongue slips in at almost the same moment, as if we’d agreed ahead of time that that’s what we’d do. It’s as if she knows all the entrance procedures and pass codes already. My barriers have deserted me.
She also seems to know how each stroke of her pretty pink tongue undoes me. I love how she tastes me, and I want to taste her, more and more. And the stronger this desire grows, the harder it is to imagine myself stopping what we’re doing. Because it feels so good.
So good.
Jenna is now running her hands over my chest as she kisses me, but unlike last time, she’s silent. I’m beginning to feel the danger of this, because if she’s not talking, then she’s not forcing me to concentrate on what she’s saying and thereby distracting me.
Now her hand is on my stomach, moving lower and lower as her tongue continues to stroke mine. Her palm glides over my navel, dropping to rest on my thigh. And I can’t help it. When she touches me there, no matter how lightly and how quickly, I suck in a breath.
Heat streaks through my belly, burning me up inside. I’m glad she can’t see the thoughts inside my head—thoughts of her hands on me, her mouth on me.
She’s hesitating, her hand stroking my thigh through my pant leg. I want her to touch me more, but I also want to push her hand away. This feeling is so powerful that it’s threatening to control me, and the most frightening part is that I don’t even care.
My hands are threaded through her pale hair, holding her head to mine. I have no memory of how they even got there. All I know is that I want her lips on mine and our tongues tangling—for hours. Then her hand moves, sliding back over my erection.
And it stays there. I freeze, unsure of what to do.
“Wil, please let me touch you,” she whispers.
Let her. As if I could tell her to stop.
I lie back against the couch, pulling her with me so that our mouths are still connected. She’s half beside me and half on top of me, and her hand is fondling me through the thin material of my khaki pants. I wonder if I can stop this before we actually have sex. I know I’ve drawn that line in the sand, hoping that it will protect me.