Page 9 of Erotic Temptations 2
His lips brushed mine, soft and hesitant, barely pressure. Everything in me went still. In a good way.
The kiss was simple. No fireworks, no tongue, just the kind of deep, slow contact that rewrote my understanding of “why bother dating anyone else ever again.” His grip on my jaw tightened just a little, grounding me, and I let my hands fall to his waist, afraid that if I pushed my luck he might bolt. He didn’t.
Long seconds passed, our lips brushing, gentle but somehow wildly electric.
When it ended, he didn’t move away. His forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing hard. For once, I had nothing witty to say. I was melted butter.
“Been wanting to do that for a while,” he admitted, his grin crooked now, like he couldn’t believe he’d actually pulled it off.
I couldn’t either. I blinked up at him.
He grinned, thumb brushing my cheek. “You want to do it again?”
Did I? Completely. I couldn’t remember wanting anything more.
He kissed me again, deeper this time, tongue tracing my lower lip, coaxing until my mouth opened to him. I wrapped my arms around his waist, just to see if he’d let me. He did.
We stood there, wrapped up in each other, surrounded by the scents of soap and bacon grease, lips pressed together while snow kept falling outside.
Ryan finally let go, but only a little. “Unless you want to spend your whole trip washing dishes and making out, we should maybe do something fun.”
I swayed a little, dizzy, but nodded. “Yeah, um. Fun. You pick.”
“Want to go skating later?” He still hadn’t let go of my hand.
“I haven’t skated in like fifteen years.”
“All the more reason.”
I grinned. “Will you catch me if I fall?”
He pressed his forehead to mine, smiling. “Always.”
We dried the last cup in silence, but it was the good kind. The kitchen felt warmer somehow. Like a piece of something long-missing had slotted into place.
He squeezed my hand, then, as if he couldn’t help himself, kissed me again. This time it was hard, decisive, like he’d been waiting for ten years.
Maybe I had, too.
* * * *
Ryan’s truck idled at the curb, engine running, windows foggy from the warmth inside. He tossed me a scarf as I slipped into the passenger seat.
“Put this on unless you want to freeze your ears off,” he said.
I wrapped the scarf around my neck, inhaling traces of his aftershave. Or maybe it was just pure Ryan. Either way, I wasn’t complaining.
The drive to the skating rink was a blur of snow drifts and glances stolen over steaming travel mugs of coffee. Ryan’s hand kept finding mine, fingers hooking loosely across the gearshift. He sang along to Motown, off-key. We didn’t talk about the kiss. We didn’t have to.
At the rink, fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The place looked exactly as tragic as I remembered with its scarred ice, scuffed rental skates, and the faint aroma of hot chocolate gone wrong. Ryan helped me with my laces, kneeling in front of me like some kind of ice-bound Prince Charming. I could get used to that.
Skating was a predictable disaster. Ten seconds in, I slipped, but Ryan was there to catch me before my ass hit the ice.
“Careful.” Ryan’s hands circled my waist, grounding me solidly on both skates.
My brain short-circuited. Warmth radiated through his gloves, straight into me, a human reset button. No one, and I mean no one, had ever made wobbling around on ice skates feel this erotic. I’d spent most of high school trying not to faceplant in the hockey rink. Now, given the choice, I would have gone down just for the thrill of having him catch me.
“Not letting you break anything,” he murmured. His face hovered close enough for me to count individual eyelashes.