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I rest my head on his shoulder and do my best to focus on the movie. Which works out… until Micah kisses my hair. Then does it again. And again.
His hand on my thigh takes on a new weight. Feels heavier and hotter.
Before I overthink what happens next, I lift my head and rotate to lock on this softer side of Micah. I hold his gaze for three breaths before dropping my eyes to his lips. I lean closer, slowly eradicate the space between us, and kiss him.
A low frequency hum purrs in my bloodstream when our lips collide. The kiss is soft and chaste at first. A slow buildup to the fiery kiss we shared earlier, but equally soul stirring.
Our tongues stroke with languid movements. Hands and fingers explore uncharted terrain but don’t cross the line. A hand slips under the back of my top and guides me back to lie on the couch. One of his legs wedges between mine. His weight above me is welcome and constant and perfect. The planes and lines and musculature of his frame mold to mine as the kiss picks up tempo.
My hands trail up his chest, his neck, and fist his hair. He moans and rocks his hips forward, grinding his thick erection against the junction of my thighs. Lust clouds every rational thought, and I do it again. He breaks the kiss with a gasp. Teeth nip along my jaw, my ear, the column of my neck, the base of my throat. Then he licks leisurely up, tasting me, until our lips crash together.
We kiss like horny teenagers. His erection rock hard between my thighs. My panties drenched and clit throbbing. But neither of us leads the moment beyond heavy kissing and light petting. Micah staying true to his word—that nothing further would happen tonight—makes my heart happy and body frustrated.
As if my thoughts were broadcasted aloud, he breaks the kiss and gasps. “You’ll be the death of me.”
Before I get a word in, he shifts us both so we lie on our sides and face the television. His front to my back. His hips lined up with mine, I’m acutely aware his erection hasn’t calmed whatsoever. And I love that he doesn’t hide his body’s reaction.
He reaches for a throw pillow and tucks it beneath our heads. His hand on my hip dips as his fingers trail the faint line of exposed skin between my shirt and pants. Fingers skirt beneath the shirt hem and splay over my belly. Although his hand doesn’t move, the tips of his fingers paint small circles near my navel. I feel every whirl and loop and stroke, at the point of origin and throughout my body.
I close my eyes. Forget about the movie. Forget about everything except the tingles rippling over my skin from his touch. How can something so simple feel so damn good?
Then he licks up my neck from the curve of my shoulder and I moan. Press my ass against him. Lose myself in the intoxication of it all when his free hand clutches my throat. Squeezes enough that I see his starry irises behind closed lids.
“You have it wrong,” I choke out.
He licks and nips his way to my ear. Sucks my lobe between his teeth. “What’s that?”
I lift a hand over his at my throat and hold it there. “You’ll be the death of me first.”
