Half a second after I give him the green light he’s kissing me again, his hands moving to my waist and lifting me slightly. My legs wind around his waist while he cups my hips, my ass, pulling us together until I feel him hard against me through our jeans.
His lips pull at mine, and if our kiss minutes before was steamy, this one could set us on fire. His military-short haircut is nothing to hold on to, so I wrap my hands around the back of his neck, my fingers digging into the soft skin there as I alternate between letting him plunder and doing my own fierce exploring.
Paul roughly uses his chin to push my face to the side as his lips move over my cheek and across my jaw, lingering on my earlobe, before he devours my neck. His lips and teeth torture me until my hips rub against his insistently, and it only takes a few more seconds before our position against the bedroom door doesn’t give either of us enough access.
In three steps, he spins us around, moves toward the bed, and tosses me onto my back. Some distant part of my brain registers that his movements, with their determined authority, are not the hampered actions of a man with an injured leg. This is a man who wants a woman. And this woman definitely wants him back.
For a moment he looks down at me as I stare back up at him, both of us breathing hard as we take in the sheer rightness of the moment. We move at the same time then, him reaching down as I sit up, arms outstretched.
I didn’t know it when I said it, but this is what I meant when I said that I’d been looking for something when I kissed Michael. I wanted that elusive yearning for another person. It’s here. I yearn for Paul. Only him.
My fingers go for the buttons of his shirt, tearing at them as his fingers move through my hair, tugging my head back so he can watch as I peel his shirt off, first one shoulder, then the other.
My eyes catch on a tattoo over his heart. I noticed the simple black letters before, when we slept together, but I’m bolder now and lean forward to place my lips there.
“Semper fi?”
“Short for semper fidelis, ‘always faithful.’ It’s the Marine Corps motto.”
I swallow. The sentiment is somehow haunting, but perhaps that’s only because I know what being always faithful has cost him.
“Don’t,” he says, leaning down to brush his lips against my temple. “Don’t go wherever your head’s going.”
His lips take mine again, and I can’t think about anything about him and the way that he tastes deliciously, perfectly like Paul.
When his hands drift down to the hem of my shirt, I lift my arms over my head.
I’m not what you’d call well endowed. I’ve always had more angles than curves, and I’m kind of wishing I’d worn one of my push-up bras instead of the pale pink demi cup.
But then Paul looks down at me. And he makes me feel beautiful.
He slowly drags his fingertips over my rib cage as I sit before him, his eyes watching the movement of his hands. When his fingers reach the bottom of my bra, his eyes flick to mine, and his gaze is dark and smoky.
I pull his head down to mine at the same time his hands close over my breasts, and we both moan.
He moves over me as I scoot back on the bed, and then I’m beneath him, his body covering mine as his hands hold my head still for a deep, demanding kiss. When his hands slide beneath my back, I arch up, giving him access to the bra snap.
I let out a little laugh at how easily he undoes it. “Done this before?”
“Not in a long time,” he says with a smile. “A long time.”
My heart skips a beat as I register what he’s saying. He hasn’t been with anyone in years. Not gonna lie—I’m elated.
“Too bad for the ladies of Maine,” I say, my fingers going to his belt buckle. “But lucky for me.”
He groans as I slide a hand into his jeans, finding him hard through his boxers. “Olivia.” His head dips down, hovering above my nipple for a half second, his eyes moving to mine before he licks the tip of my breast.