RAIN TAPS WITH hard nails against the window as I hug the bed. Drew has just taken me from behind and, after taking care of the condom, is now a comforting weight against my back, his arms bracketing mine, our fingers linked. We breathe as one, a light pant as we come down from the high sex took us to. My face is smashed in my pillow, but I don’t care. I’m a boneless mass of well-pleasured flesh. And so warm with him on me that I want to beg him not to move. Ever. We could just lie like this and listen to the rain. Never get up.
Only I’m the one who is supposed to be kicking him out. A knot gathers just below my breastbone as I try to gather the will to say the words. And then he does it.
His lips press against my shoulder in a gentle, reverent kiss.
Instantly, I tense. And so does he. I can feel him growing tight along the length of my body. But he doesn’t move off. No, he tenses further and then deliberately kisses me again, as if daring me to protest. Another loving kiss upon my shoulder. Then another one.
My heart turns over in my chest.
“What are you doing?” I can barely get the question out, and it sounds too soft, too weak.
He pauses for only a moment, his lips just touching my shoulder. “Kissing your freckles.” The tip of his tongue flickers on my skin, the barest taste, and something deep within me goes hot.
“But why?” I ask as he keeps on doing it. Slow. Steady. Exploratory.
It’s the tenderness behind it all that makes my heart beat fast and my breath catch.
“Because I’ve been dying to do it.” God, his voice. It’s so low and gentle, a caress of sound. It unravels me. Combined with his kisses, I’ll soon be a quivering mess. His big, warm hands cup my upper arms, as if I might run. Which I might.
“You have so many here,” he continues in lazy fashion, his lips brushing along my skin, “like golden sugar on cream.”
I snort. “They’re orange spots.”
He makes a rumbling sound deep within his throat. “Potato-potahtoh. Now quiet, I’m busy here.”
It’s not like I can move. His heavy thigh lies across mine, and the warm weight of his chest presses against my ass.
He’s moving, nipping and tasting his way over my shoulders. A gentle touch sweeps my hair off my neck so he can kiss my nape.
I shiver. A full body shake that feels as delicious as it does terrifying. It’s too much. Too intimate. He surrounds me, all heat and strength, every touch like adoration.
He presses an open-mouthed kiss on my shoulder blade and a small groan comes from him. “I dreamed of doing this the other day.”
“What?” I’ve fallen into a haze, but this stirs me enough to lift my head.
I can see him grin, but his attention is on my freckles. “In class,” he says. “I lost track of time thinking about peeling off that white sweater you were wearing and licking my way across your shoulders.”
As if to emphasize this little confession, he licks a path from my nape to the tip of my shoulder blade.
“You can’t be thinking about that in class.” God, he can’t because then I’ll be thinking of him doing it, and I won’t remember another freaking word our professor utters.
Unfortunately, Drew shakes his head as he proceeds to kiss his way down my spine. “Sorry, Jones, but you don’t have a say over my fantasies.”
“Shithead.”
He laughs outright at that, but doesn’t stop. “Take your breasts, for example. Those play a starring role in so many.” He’s conversational now as he slides his way down my back, his hands holding my ribs, his mouth destroying me. “God, I almost lost it during a footage review, thinking about your nipples, the way they go stiff when I suck them, and how you make those little whimpers when I do.”
I might have whimpered again because he stops for a moment, his lips hovering. “Yeah,” he whispers, “like that.”