Rachel Gibson - I’m In No Mood For Love

She swallowed hard as her amazing blue eyes stared up into his. She blinked. “You followed me in here to talk about when we used to eat cookies?”

He brushed his hands across her shoulders to the sides of her warm neck. Her pulse quickened beneath his thumbs. “No.” He tilted her chin up and lowered his face just above hers. “I want to talk about eating you like a Tasty O.” He continued to look into her eyes as he said, “I want to talk about all the things I want to do to you. Then we can talk about all the things I want you to do to me.” All the things he’d already thought of her doing to him.

She raised her hands to his chest and he thought she might push him away. Instead she said, “We can’t do this. Someone will walk in here.”

He wondered if she realized that her only objection was that they might get caught. He smiled. Her red lipstick had been driving him crazy, and he brushed his mouth across hers. “Not if we’re very quiet.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “You don’t want Joyce to walk in on us. She’d be horrified to find you in here kissing the gardener’s son.”

“But I’m not kissing you.”

He chuckled silently. “Not yet.”

She sucked in a breath and held it. “Your father could find us.”

He brushed his thumb across the soft skin of her jaw as he continued to tease her mouth. “He’s taking one of his twenty-minute naps that usually last an hour. He won’t ever know.”

“Why do I let you do this to me?” she asked through a sigh.

“Because it feels good.”

She swallowed and her throat moved beneath his hands. “Lots of things feel good.”

“Not this good.” Her fingers curled into his sweater. “Admit it, Clare. You like how this feels as much as I do.”

“It’s only because…it’s been a while.”

“A while since?”

“I’ve felt this good.”

It had been a while for him too. A while since he’d thought about a woman as much as he did Clare. Especially since he wasn’t even having sex with her. He tilted her face up a little more, and while his mouth lightly touched hers, he waited. Waited for the last sweet moment of hesitation. The moment right before she lost the battle with herself and melted into him. When she was no longer the perfect Clare. No longer hiding behind bland smiles and rigid control. The moment right before she turned soft and passionate all at the same time.

He felt the hitch in her breathing and the press of her fingertips into the weave of his sweater the second before her hands slid up his chest, leaving a trail of fire to the back of his neck. Her lips parted with a barely perceptible ahh , and she was his. Her acquiescence excited him almost as much as her fingers combing through the back of his hair. It raised the flesh on his back and chest and turned the interest in his pants as hard as rock.

He kept the kiss light, taking his time to taste a hint of mint on her breath and feel the soft warmth of her mouth. He let her set the pace and settled into a hot, wet kiss that was as excruciating as it was sweet. He felt her passion grow and build. He felt it in her touch and heard it in the little moan in her throat.

She pulled back, her breathing rapid, her eyes wide and dilated. Her hands gripped his shoulders and she said just above a whisper, “Why do I always let this happen?”

Frustration clawed at his chest and between his legs. His breathing was only slightly calmer than hers. “We already covered that.”

“I know, but why with you?” She licked her wet lips. “There are lots of other men in the world.”

He pulled her against his chest until her breasts were pressed into the front of his sweater. “I guess I make it feel better than those other men.” Talk time was over, and he lowered his mouth once again. There was no hesitation in her this time. Only passion, hot and fluid and every bit as needy as his own.

He placed a hand on her round behind and shoved one knee between hers. He settled her against the hard ridge of his erection, turning his desire for her into a hot greedy thing he could barely control. Her kiss turned wetter and hungrier, and he gave her what she needed.

She’d been wrong about him. He didn’t want a woman to bend herself around for him. Although there was nothing wrong with rocking his world in bed. Or out of bed. Or in the pantry. At the moment Clare was doing a really good job of it. He slid his hand from her behind to her waist and slipped his fingers beneath the bottom edge of her sweater. Her skin was soft, and he drew a circle on her belly with his thumb. She moved against his erection and he fought the urge to push down her pants and have sex with her right there. On the floor of the pantry where anyone could walk in, satisfying his lust between her soft thighs and easing the razor edge of desire that twisted and turned low in his belly and added a slice of pain to the pleasure.

He raised a hand to the top button of her sweater and pulled. The sweater parted, and he continued to kiss her senseless as he lowered his hand to the next button. The last thing he wanted was for her to stop him. There would be time to stop, later. Right now he wanted just a bit more. Five more buttons and his hand slipped between the edges of her sweater and he cupped her breast. Through the lace of her bra, her hard nipple poked the center of his palm.

She pulled back and lowered her startled gaze to his hand. “You unbuttoned my sweater.”

He brushed her nipple with his thumb, and she closed her eyes and her breathing caught in her chest. “I want you,” he whispered.

She looked up at him, desire and control conflicting in her blue eyes. “We can’t.”

“I know.” Through the tiny wholes in the lace, he felt tantalizing hints of her warm flesh. “We’ll stop.”

She shook her head but didn’t remove his hand. “We should probably stop now. The door doesn’t lock. Someone could walk in.”

True. Normally that might have given him pause. Not today. With both hands, he pushed the edges of her sweater farther apart and lowered his gaze. “Ever since that night at the Double Tree,” he said, “I’ve thought of this. Of undressing you and touching you.” He looked at her cleavage and her hard nipples pressing against the red lace of her bra. “Of having another look at little Clare.”

“I’m not little anymore,” she whispered.

“Yes. I know,” he said, and slid three fingers beneath the shoulder strap. “I like this. You should always wear red.” Beneath the satin and lace, he slipped his fingers to the red bow nestled between her deep cleavage. He bent forward and kissed the side of her neck while his hands opened the little closure hidden beneath the bow. The bra released and he pushed it, along with her sweater, down her arms.

“But you look better naked these days.” Her full white breasts were perfectly round and topped with small dark pink nipples, puckered and ready and offered up like dessert. He lowered his head and kissed the hollow of her throat, her cleavage, and the side of her breast. He looked up into her face as he opened his mouth and touched his tongue to the tip of her pebbled nipple. He rolled it beneath his tongue, and she brought her hands to the sides of his face and arched her back. Her nostrils flared, and she watched him through blue eyes turned liquid and shining with passion.

Sebastian moved his hands to her back and held her while he opened his slick mouth and sucked her inside. His tongue played with the hard and soft textures of her flesh as the sharp edge of lust tugged and twisted and tortured him.

“Stop!” she whispered, and pushed him away.

He looked up at her, dazed and drugged with the taste of her skin lingering in his mouth. Stop, he’d just gotten started.