Page 57

His expression turns intent, as if that reaction is what he was trying to name.

“Yes,” I say.

His hand cups me more fully. There’s nothing sophisticated about the wonder on his face.

That should make this less sexy. It absolutely doesn’t. Kell rubs his thumb over the fabric covering my nipple, and my knees nearly betray me. He notices.

“Do that again.”

He does, slower this time. The pressure of his thumb and the low vibration still running through him meet in the same place, sending a sharp rush through me. A soft moan slips out before I can stop it. I catch his wrist, not to stop him, but because I suddenly need something solid beneath my hand. Kell watches me closely.

“I like that sound,” he says.

“I gathered.”

His thumb moves again, and my breath catches. Then his mouth replaces his hand.

The fine weave of his lips closes over my nipple through the blouse and bra, and whatever useful thing I might have said disappears. His mouth is warm, the pressure tentative for only a second before he adjusts to the way my fingers tighten around his wrist.

“Oh.”

Kell lifts his head immediately. “Bad?”

“No. Good.”

He understands enough not to ask another question. The next time his mouth closes over me, he changes the pressure when my body presses instinctively toward him. A low sound leaves him, and the vibration passes directly through my breast.

“Kell.”

His hand shifts to the other side, and this time there is less experimentation in it. He’s already learned that gentle pressure makes me lean into him and that the vibration makes everything stronger. He uses both pieces of information without needing me to explain either one again.

By the time he lifts his head, I’m gripping his shoulders. His hand moves down my side, fingertips following the curve of my waist before stopping just above my hip.

He waits. My pulse is beating too fast, and the next few inches suddenly feel like a much bigger step than the distance should account for. We’re still standing in my kitchen, my back only a few inches from the counter, and his cock is hard against my hip.

He wants more. So do I. But his hand stays exactly where it is.

I put my hand over his and slide it down.

His fingers follow mine over my hip. When I guide them beneath the waistband of my pants, he stops moving.

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

That’s all he needs. His hand slips beneath my panties too, warm fingers settling against skin no one but Dave has touched in twenty-nine years. The thought stops me for half a second, then Kell moves, and it’s gone.

His fingertips travel carefully through the hair between my legs, then lower. He has no idea where he’s going, but absolutely no hesitation about finding out.

The first time his fingers reach the wetness at my entrance, he stops.

“Laura.”

There’s so much astonishment in my name that I go still for a second.

“You’re wet.”

“That happens because I want you.”