Page 61 of She’s Worth the Risk

Fuck.

I draw away just enough to remove my glasses, tossing them onto the coffee table, and she tugs me back to her. This time, Zinnia doesn’t want slow. Her lips part, inviting me in, and I’m powerless to resist. It’s been a long time since I’ve kissed a woman, but I don’t remember it feeling like this. Intense, steadily building desire. Tight, coiled need, low in my gut.

I slant my mouth over hers, trying to keep myself in check, but when I feel the soft lick of her tongue against mine, the battle’s lost. Heat spirals through me, and I slide my fingers into her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss.

“Fuck,” she murmurs breathlessly, hands on my cheek, my jaw.

She arches against me, her breasts pressing to my chest, and my cock thickens in my pants. I want to touch her, but I don’t know how she wants to be touched. She’s so confident in her body, so at home in her skin, and if I’m totally honest, it’s intimidating as hell.

I’m terrified I’ll disappoint her.

It’s a relief when her hands land on the buttons of my shirt, tugging. “Take this off,” she breathes. “I need to feel you.”

My heart jumps at the desperate, pleading note in her voice, like she can’t go another second without her hands on me. I fumble with the buttons, trying to get my shirt off, but the rolled cuffs catch on my forearms, and I curse under my breath, face warming.

Fuck, why am I so bad at this?

But Zinnia doesn’t care. She waits patiently as I unroll the sleeves and finally toss my shirt aside, and when I force myself to look at her, her eyes are busy roaming my torso, mouth slack.

“Holy shit, Nick.” Her breath stutters, and she lifts both hands to touch my shoulders, my biceps, my chest, as if she can’t believe I’m real. “This is what you’ve been hiding under that tweed jacket?”

I huff an awkward laugh, warmth prickling my neck. “The gym,” I mumble self-consciously. I spend an hour there each day, sometimes more, but not out of vanity. I’d always thought it was to stay healthy, but as I acknowledge the heavy throbbing in my groin, I wonder if it was an unconscious attempt to keep any… urges… at bay. To stay in control.

Her gaze lifts to mine, eyes heavy-lidded and dark. “You are…”

She shakes her head, fingers brushing my pecs, trailing down my abdomen. Her touch burns like fire on my skin, and molten heat pours through me, my cock straining against my zipper.

“You look like you’re carved from marble.” She gives a disbelieving laugh. “Fuck David, Michelangelo should have made a statue of you.”

I glance down to hide my smile. There’s no denying the warm satisfaction that slides through me at her words. That even though I’m seventeen years older, she’s very clearly, very obviously, attracted to me.

She bites her lip, looking down at her own body, all softness and curves. “Shit, you’re making me feel bad.”

Oh, hell no.

“Zinnia,” I say, voice a rough scrape in my throat. I slide a finger under her chin, tilting her face toward mine. “You’re perfection, honey. Every fucking inch of you.”

Her lips part, gaze softening as it moves over my face. All I can think about is the comment she made at Joe’s, that she wished Botticelli’s beauty standards applied today, and I feel the need to make my attraction to her very clear.

“Why do you think I couldn’t look at you that first night in life drawing?” I say thickly, adjusting my aching cock. “You were too much. Too beautiful. I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

A smile slides onto her lips, and I stare at it, heart drumming. I’m about to kiss her again when she stills, gaze snagging on the left side of my torso.

“Wait.” She sits up on her elbows, mouth opening in surprise. “You have a tattoo?”

“I do.” I lift my left arm so she can see. It’s da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, on the side of my ribcage. I got it the year I became tenured. At the time, I convinced myself it was to mark that moment in my career, but was it an unconscious attempt to reconnect with that younger part of me?

“Wow.” Zinnia runs her fingertip over the ink, shaking her head. “I love it. This is so you.” Her smile is wide and beaming as she looks up at me. She tugs my mouth back to hers, fingers tunneling into my hair, and I can’t stop my hands from going to her waist. “Yes,” she whispers, dragging her mouth over my jaw. “Touch me. Please, Nick. Touch me.”

My hands shake as I trace the curves I’ve spent so long admiring. God, her skin is so smooth, so silky and divine. And when Zinnia takes my hand, placing it on her breast, heat grips my insides. I cradle its soft fullness, watching as her nipples tighten in response.

“What…” I swallow, voice so shredded it’s barely audible. “Show me what you like.”

She releases the biggest sigh, as if she’s waited forever to hear me say those words. “Like this,” she says huskily, guiding my thumb over the stiff peak of her nipple. “And this,” she adds, moving my other hand to rest between her legs, past the dark curls, to where she’s warm and wet.

“Fuck,” I grate out, fingers brushing her slickness. My cock leaks as I circle her swollen clit, watching her eyes roll back, a breathless moan rushing from her. I kiss her hard, losing myself as she writhes under my touch. Her curves are heaven, supple and soft and warm. She’s so damn wet, and all I can think about is what she’d taste like. If she’d like me to kiss her there.

“Can I…” Fuck, I’ve lost the ability to speak. “Can I taste you, honey?”