Page 153 of Show Me

“Haven’t done anything.”

Yet. It hangs there without either of us saying it.

He sets his glass down beside mine before walking toward the living room. I follow, dropping onto the couch.

Xavier settles beside me and stretches an arm across the back cushions. I last maybe thirty seconds before leaning into him. His arm comes around me immediately. Easy. Familiar.

I tuck my head beneath his chin, one hand resting against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my palm.

Then his thumb slips beneath the hem of my shirt. Barely. Just enough to skim the skin at my waist. My breath catches.

His hand stops. “Okay?”

I answer by turning my face toward his. His mouth finds mine. The first kiss is slow. Almost lazy. The kind we've gotten dangerously good at.

Then I shift closer. His hand slides farther around my waist, spreading against my bare back as he pulls me across him.

The kiss changes.

My fingers curl into his shirt. His mouth moves over mine, deeper now, and I end up half in his lap before I remember moving.

Xavier makes a rough sound against my mouth. That sound goes straight through me. I kiss him harder.

One of his hands settles at my hip while the other travels slowly up my back beneath my shirt. Warm palm. Rough fingertips. Every pass leaves another trail of heat behind.

I slide my hand beneath his shirt in return. His stomach tightens beneath my fingers.

“Ruby.”

I smile against his mouth. “What?”

“You know what.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

His laugh disappears into another kiss. This one isn't remotely careful.

His fingers tighten at my hip, drawing me closer until there's almost no space left between us. I feel the heat of him through our clothes, the hard lines of his body beneath mine, and every sensible thought I had five minutes ago disappears.

My mouth leaves his and finds his jaw.

His head tips back. “Jesus.”

I like that reaction far too much.

His hand slides along my side, thumb brushing the edge of my bra beneath my shirt before traveling down again. Teasing. Exploring. Never quite going where my body suddenly wants it.

“You're doing that on purpose.”

“Doing what?”

I pull back enough to glare at him. His mouth curves. “You know exactly what.”

“You're going to have to be more specific.”

I glare at him. “Did you just use my own line against me?”

“Occasionally right, remember?”