Sweet Little Lies

“Problem?”

“No.” She bit her lower lip. “Maybe.”

“Tell me.”

She opened her mouth and then shook her head. “My mom taught me to show not tell.” And then her hands went to his chest, one of them right over the band aid, which she touched gently, running her fingers over it as if she wished she could take away the pain. “I just … need to see …”

“See what?”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth and again she hesitated. Tenderness mixed with his sudden pervasive hunger and need, a dizzying combination for a guy who prided himself on not feeling much. “Pru—“

“Shh a second,” she whispered. And then closing the gap, she brushed her lips over his.

At the connection, he groaned, loving the way her hands tightened on him. She murmured his name, a soft plea and yet somehow also a demand, and he wanted to both smile and tug her down to the couch.

Trying to cool his jets, trying to let her stay in charge, he attempted to hold back, but she let out this breathy little whimper like he was the best thing she’d ever tasted. Threading his fingers through her hair, he took over the kiss, slow, deeper now, until she let out another of those delicious little whimpers and practically climbed his body.

Yeah, she liked that, a whole hell of a lot, and he closed his arms hard around her, lifting her up against him for more.