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But I shoved at the doorknob, and when the door gave, I swept it open, kicking it shut behind us with a room-shaking slam.
Depositing her on the island, I dived back into the kiss, sliding my hands over every inch of her that I could touch.
Her back arched, the heat of her core pressed tight against my stomach, and I yanked at her top where it was tucked into the waist of that skirt.
Someday, I’d take her while she was wearing my favorite parts of this outfit. Just the skirt and her heels.
When the shirt cleared her head, all those glorious curls fell around her shoulders, and I pulled back to take her in.
“Perfect,” I breathed. “You’re so bloody perfect.”
The lines of her tits in that bra had my mouth watering, and I ducked my head down, trailing my tongue along the lace edges.
She clutched my head to her chest and moaned my name.
There was an urgency that I couldn’t fight—a debilitating crack of lust coursing through my body—no matter how badly I wanted to take this slow.
No matter how badly I wanted to luxuriate in every inch of her body.
We’d effectively lit the fire, and there was no putting it out now. Every time her fingers swept over my skin, I burned, and it was impossible to grasp how we didn’t incinerate everything around us.
For months, for years, this thing building between us had been set to a low-level simmer, unnoticeable if you weren’t looking for it.
And maybe that’s how real desire was built and sustained—with careful tending and patience.
She squirmed on the island, and I shoved at her skirt until I caught my first glimpse of that flimsy black lace covering her backside.
My muscles screamed raw, wanting to rip it off her, but I sucked in a quick breath through gritted teeth, mouthing the lace that covered her breasts.
The room spun when I tugged her bra to the side and used the flat of my tongue against her tight skin.
She cried out, gripping my head while I licked and sucked across her chest.
I wanted to gorge on every inch of her. Inhale all that decadence and see if I could eat my fill of what I found underneath the gauzy protection of her clothes.
Zoe tugged at the back of her bra and ripped it off. I palmed her breasts, pushing them together so I could lick across the lush mounds.
The tips were hard as diamonds.
“You still hungry, love?” I asked. Then I kissed her gently there, blowing a soft stream of air over the wet skin that I’d left behind.
Zoe tugged my face up toward hers. Her eyes were on fire. “Ice cream can wait,” she gasped, then kissed me. She sighed when I sucked on her lower lip. “Take me to bed,” she begged against my mouth.
It took every shred of self-control for me not to rip open the zipper of my pants and take her just like that, with her skirt rucked up around her waist and her breasts shiny wet from my mouth.
I cupped her face in my hands, dragging my thumb over her plump lower lip. “You want me?” I asked, voice a hoarse whisper. “You’re ready to take me, darling?”
She kissed me with a helpless moan. “I have never wanted anyone like this, Liam.”
Somewhere deep in my chest, a rumbling roar of possession shot off like a racing pulse. I’d get high off those words of hers. An addiction that I’d never be free of.
With my hands under her ass, her mouth fixed firmly on mine, I carried her up the stairs, stopping only once, when she rolled her hips against my aching hard-on.
“No sex on the stairs,” I said through gritted teeth.
She laughed in delight, and I wanted to live on that fucking sound for the rest of my life.
I’d do anything to hear it. Maybe I’d quit football, stop doing everything to devote my entire life to making her smile and making her laugh.
