All Summer Long (Fool's Gold #9)

Instead of responding, he took the glass of champagne from her hand, set it on the table next to him, then lowered his head to hers and kissed her.

The movement was unexpected. One second she’d been ready to take him on and the next she was getting lost in the feel of his mouth on hers. The transition was seamless, shifting her from play to desire in a single heartbeat. There was no time for apprehension, no place for fear. The memory of their previous kisses had her relaxing into his embrace.

As he had before, he kept the kiss easy and light. He moved his lips back and forth, teasing, promising, allowing her to settle in to what they were doing. She shifted a little, angling toward him, then wrapping her arms around his neck.

She was aware of heat low in her belly. Of sensations growing, and a melting sort of fiery tingling. Her br**sts began to ache. Arousal, she thought hazily. She sort of remembered this happening years before. Back in high school. Before the attack.

But while the memory of the rape was still floating around, it seemed less significant than it had. With Clay, she was safe. She knew that. So when his tongue lightly touched her bottom lip, she parted for him.

He slipped inside and she welcomed him with strokes and circles. She settled into the growing sense of need, welcoming the awakening of her body.

He continued to kiss her deeply. She was aware that he was holding himself slightly away from her, not touching his body to hers. Not letting his weight make her feel trapped.

She slipped her arms under his and rested her hands on his back. She traced the thick muscles, enjoying the way they rippled under her touch. He put his hand on her hip.

The casual act should have gone unnoticed. He’d done it last time. But in her present position—on her back, on the sofa, it was more intimate. She was aware of the light weight of his hand, of the heat from his fingers. At the same moment she was reminded of the growing ache in her br**sts.

And then she knew. She wanted him to touch her br**sts. She wanted to feel his hands and fingers touching her.

She believed in making a decision and accepting the consequences. But what worked in the rest of her life didn’t seem to apply right now. Was it okay to move her hand? Should she wait for him to figure it out? How on earth did anyone get through all this without going crazy?

Clay raised his head. “Someone’s lost interest.”

“What?”

“You stopped kissing me back.”

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

“Big mistake.” He moved his hand from her hip to her cheek. “Getting scared?”

“No. I’m fine.”

His eyes were dark and filled with something she hoped was passion. There was an easy way to check, but in their current positions, she couldn’t exactly look for an erection without being obvious.

“Then what?” he asked.

His voice was gentle. Concerned. Her gaze locked with his as the steady ache grew. She sucked in a breath, told herself she would survive whatever happened, then put her fingers on his wrist and slowly drew his hand down to her breast.

He continued to look in her eyes as he closed his hand over her breast. “I take it back,” he murmured. “Think as much as you want.”

His fingers moved lightly as he explored her. When he brushed across her nipple, she felt a jolt all the way down to her groin. Without thinking, she arched toward him and parted her legs. Before she could slam her knees back together, he was kissing her again, making it impossible to do anything but feel and kiss him back.

Sensation flooded her. He seemed to know exactly how to touch her so that her breath caught in her throat. Deep kisses competed with his hand touching every inch of her breast. He kept returning to her nipple, brushing it more firmly every time until he finally took it between his thumb and index finger and squeezed gently.

Another jolt had her holding in a moan. Images of him touching her without her T-shirt and bra filled her brain until she couldn’t think about anything else. The wanting took on a desperate edge.

She broke free of the kiss and pushed him back long enough to pull off her shirt. She reached for her bra, only to stumble to a stop as reality intruded. What on earth was she doing?

Before indecision could take over, Clay was there, his hands reaching behind her to unfasten the hooks. Then he looked into her eyes.

“Hold it in place until you’re ready,” he told her.

He shifted on the sofa, angling toward her. He bent down and lightly kissed the side of her neck. Damp, hot kisses trailed from her left collarbone to her right, then back. Slipping lower and lower with each pass. She sagged back on the cushions and closed her eyes. The sense of safety returned, along with the desire.

Nice, she thought as his lips brushed her skin. Better than nice. She relaxed and tossed the bra to the side.