Yes, yes, yes, I think. But his fingers still right as they are about to undo the clasp. “Chloe . . .”
He shifts below me, enough to leave no doubt in my mind just how turned on he is. I sink down against his hardness and he closes his eyes and moans quietly. “Less talk,” I whisper against his neck. I’m so tempted to leave another mark, like the one I gave him in Costa Rica. “More action.”
But his hands retreat from my bra until they’re no longer underneath fabric at all.
I sit up. He opens his eyes and stares up at me; they’re glazed—he’s not hiding his desire from me one bit in them.
Except, his hands have stilled. And, I’m not down with that. He wants slow? I’ll give him slow. Slowly, oh so slowly, I lift my dress over my head and toss it on the ground next to us.
Now his hands are moving, up my belly until they skim the bottom of my bra. “You’re killing me here,” he says, voice hoarse. Thank goodness I wore a matching bra and panty set.
I shiver when his hands travel higher, curving around the sides of my breasts. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
He blinks slowly. “You need to stop moving.” When I arch an eyebrow, he says, blushing for the second time tonight, “I’m . . . I’m having a hard time controlling myself right now.”
Don’t control yourself, I want to say. I want to lose myself in this moment, in you. I press down against him again. Gods, he’s so hard, and it feels so good against me.
He laughs under his breath, his hands suddenly gripping my hips, fingers teasing the lacy edges of my panties. “You think I’m joking. I . . . Don’t make me embarrass myself. Please. I’m begging you.”
I lean down and bite his earlobe, which makes him groan quietly. I’m more than okay if he so-called embarrasses himself. Actually, it’d be way sexy and a total turn-on, knowing I can make him come by just kissing him. So I connect my mouth with his once more until I’m nearly delirious with wantneedwant.
His fingers slide slowly into my panties, barely skimming my burning skin. I arch against him, wiggle even, desperate to get the pressure I need. There’s a build-up threatening to disintegrate my body, which is crazy, because we’re barely doing much more than kissing and touching, and he’s still dressed, and I’ve still got my bra and panties on, and—
Wait. He’s stopped again.
“You’re the one killing me,” I whisper in his mouth.
He groans again when I slowly, purposely twist my hips, and then his tongue is back in my mouth, tracing mine. Gods, kissing this man is so damn addictive. So are his quiet groans that let me know he’s getting close. I continue gyrating small circles against him, reveling in these sounds and the way his kisses deepen.
Finally, finally, he unclasps my bra and slides the purple silk and lace off my shoulders. Cool ocean air hits my breasts, but with the way he’s looking at me, there’s no part of my body that isn’t on fire. “Gorgeous,” he whispers, and it sounds like both a curse and a prayer coming off his lips.
I retaliate by removing his shirt just as slowly as he removed my bra. He called me gorgeous, but in all honestly, the man whom I’m touching right now is that and more.
I can only hope that the crew stays below, since the moan that comes out of me when his mouth closes around my breast is ridiculously loud. I’m not embarrassed, though. How could I be? Not with him, not in this moment. My fingers dig into his hair, and the tension inside me builds-up so strongly that I know I’m going to lose control and explode any moment. Screw trying to get him to come through just kissing. We can experiment with that one later. I need him in me right now. I want to feel this, I want us to be one when it happens.
My hands are back on his shorts, palming his need until his head drops back. Gods, he’s so beautiful when he’s like this, totally taken over by what he feels for me. It’s one of the best rushes in the worlds. What he makes me feel is beautiful. This is beauti—
A gasp, followed by a hoarse, “Wait.”
—ful, and . . . what? Again? Is he seriously trying to torture me?
But when I open my eyes and look down at him, I know right away something is wrong. Kellan’s breathing hard, eyes are closed so tight he looks like he’s in pain.
Which, of course, makes me pull up again. Kellan’s hands reach out and clamp down around my waist, effectively stopping me from moving any further.
I don’t know what he wants. Me closer? Further? Faster? Slower?
“I just . . .” He’s still gasping. “I’m having a lot of trouble thinking about this logically right now.”
Forget logic. I finally manage to unbutton his pants, yet just as my hand goes to stroke him, his eyes open. And I’m nearly bowled over by the amount of ache in them. It’s like a bucket of ice water, forcing me to be the one to freeze.
“I don’t want you . . . to do anything you’re going to . . .”
I hunt for my voice to ask, “Going to?” after he falls silent for too long.