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.”
He laughs outright at that, but doesn’t stop. “Take your br**sts, 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 ni**les, 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.”
“Jesus.” It’s all I can say.
“Or your pu**y. Your sweet, pink,”—he kisses the dip in my waist—”pussy. Always so wet for me.” The tip of his tongue glides downward, scattering pleasure in its wake. “I think about that every time I drive over here.” He sucks the tender skin at the small of my back. “How tight and wet you’ll be for me.”
His words are crude. I should protest. I can’t. He’s turned my body against me. It has become this languid thing, stretching and undulating into his touch like a cat to sunlight. I’m so hot my skin actually shivers. But he doesn’t stop. Of course not.
The truth is, I don’t want him to. Nothing has felt better than this.
“And then there’s your ass.” He lets out a long appreciative groan that makes me blush. Not that he’s noticed. He’s too busy mauling me. “This ass.” His big hands palm either side of my butt and squeeze.
“Shh.” He gives my butt a light slap, and I blush harder at the resulting wiggle of flesh. While he hums. “I’m having a moment.” His voice goes husky. “With this f**king perfect ass.”
“It is not!” Though I’m happy with my body, I know what it is and what it isn’t.
“Ah, Jones,” he tuts, “you’re just fishing for compliments now.” He gives my left butt cheek a feather-light kiss.
“I’m simply being honest, you goober.”
Another kiss lands on my skin. “You’re blind. Your ass. Jesus, your whole body...” He pauses, his mouth just touching the point where my back swoops up to meet my butt. “Nothing compares, Jones.”
I’m struck breathless. He’s the one who is incomparable.
“I’ve seen the girls you’ve been with, Baylor.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wince. It’s stupid to call them to mind. But I’ve said it, so I’ve got to finish. “You cannot claim that my body is…” I was wrong; I can’t say the rest.
And by the way his hands tighten on my waist, I don’t think he wants me to either. When he speaks, it’s quiet but insistent. “The fact that I’m finding it hard to even recall another woman ought to tell you something.”
Slowly, he laughs. “You’re never going to win this argument.”
“No. Because you’re begging the question.” His palm smoothes down my hip and then back up. “It is my opinion that your ass is perfect. Ergo, your ass is perfect to me.”
I can’t help laughing. “I cannot believe you’re pulling out philosophical constructs now.”
“Believe it, baby.” Happiness and a certain smugness lighten his voice. “I like debating with you.”