“I did a photo shoot in a locker room once. They stuck me in an expensive couture dress and had a couple of football players hold me up.” At his look, she said, “It didn’t seem as strange then as it does now that I’m telling you about it.”
“Those poor guys, I’ll bet they were both in love with you by the end of the photo shoot.” When she flushed lightly, he knew he’d hit it dead-on. “They asked you out, didn’t they?”
“They seemed like nice guys, but—”
“You weren’t allowed to date.”
“No, I wasn’t. But there’s no one here to stop me now.”
He’d planned on waiting until they’d taken off the face paint, but he couldn’t keep from putting his hands on her hips and dragging her close. “Thank God.”
He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. Tried to, anyway, but the paint started cracking off into their mouths the second their lips met.
“We’ve got to get this stuff off.”
“No kidding. I’m really good at taking off makeup. Let me do it.” A few seconds later, she was wetting a clean towel from a small stack in the corner. “Close your eyes.”
Her hands were steady and sure as she quickly wiped his face clean, and by the time she told him he could open his eyes, his skin was back to normal. Before she could do the same for herself, he said, “Let me.”
She closed her eyes and let him gently run a new wet towel over her skin. Everything about her was flawless, but he was always careful not to stare too much, not to let on that he was shocked by her beauty each and every time he looked at her. Not when he could tell that being the most beautiful girl in the world hadn’t always been easy for her, and that it hadn’t always made her feel good or happy. But here in the locker room, just as he’d been able to stare a little longer than usual as he’d put on her face paint, he was able to run his fingertips over the curves of her cheekbones, the hollows beneath them, the sweet arches of her eyebrows, and the sensuous curve of her lips.
He took his time restoring her skin to its usual smooth, soft glow. When he was done, he threw the towel into the linen basket across the room and straddled the long wooden bench. She moved one leg across it to face him. Her skin was flushed, the pulse at her neck racing. She looked nervous. But also aroused.
And happy...most of all she looked happy. It was how he always wanted her to be.
“Kiss me, Sean.”
He slid a couple of inches closer and reached up with one hand to cup her jaw. Gently, and oh-so-softly, he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. Their kiss was barely more than a breath against each other’s lips, but he could feel the impact of it all the way down in the deepest part of him.
He wanted to take. Wanted to ravage. Wanted to possess. At the same time, he also wanted something he’d never known he could want before: for their kisses to be as emotional as they were sexy. And for each one to be more than just foreplay. More than just a way to tease, to tempt.But though he could tell Serena was as affected by these kisses as he was, he also knew from the way her body was winding tighter with each one that she was hungry for more. He’d felt her hunger last week, too, but she’d hadn’t been ready for more than kisses. And even now that he swore he could feel the heat radiating from her, he didn’t want to make the mistake of pushing her too fast. But, he wondered as she made a little growly sound at his next super-soft, super-sweet kiss, could it finally be time to start gently leading them down the road in the direction they both obviously wanted to go?
“Is this how you want me to kiss you?” Yet again he pressed his lips against hers, no tongues, no teeth, just the sweet, simple pleasure of being close to her.
Her hands had moved to his thighs by then, and he didn’t know if she realized how tightly she was gripping him, her fingers loosening every time he kissed her, then tightening when he drew back.
“I really like it,” she whispered against his lips a beat before she surprised him by saying, “but I want you to kiss me like this.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
As her mouth crashed against his, he moved his hands to her hips to drag her even closer. Instead of pulling away, she wrapped her legs around his waist and bucked against him as she moaned into his mouth.
Layers. There were too many layers of clothes between them. He didn’t stop to think before he found the hem of her long-sleeved Stanford Football shirt and yanked it up over her torso. Clearly as desperate as he was to get rid of at least one of the cotton barriers between them¸ she helped him get it over her head and toss it onto the bench.
He stroked her nearly bare back, only her bra left on her upper body now. She was so warm, and when she arched into his touch, he finally saw what he’d uncovered.
“You’re—” Beautiful didn’t even come close. Gorgeous was just a word. “A miracle.”
Apart from that night at the frat party, she’d always worn baggy clothes. He’d been careful tonight to make sure that the shirt he’d bought for her to wear at the game hadn’t been too fitted, either. But now, with her br**sts swelling over the top of the surprisingly sexy silk bra, he wanted to touch, wanted to stroke, wanted to taste.
But when he looked up at her face, he could read every one of her fears, every bit of her hesitation. And he also finally realized that he was gaping at her like a horny idiot.
“Serena, you don’t have to be frightened.” Instead of touching her br**sts, he threaded his fingers through her hair. “You don’t have to worry.” He pressed his lips to hers, slow and soft and sweet. “It’s me.” He kissed her again. “I won’t hurt you.” Their lips brushed, tongues licked, teeth nipped. “We’re only going to go as fast as you want to go.” He was reminding them both. “We can put your shirt back on if you want to. If you need to.”
“No.” She moved closer. “I don’t want that. I don’t need that.”
“What do you want? What do you need?”
But instead of answering him, she put her hands over his and moved them to cup her br**sts over the silk. He had to close his eyes, had to take a breath, and then another, to try to keep his shit together.
So good. She felt so good. Soft and warm and round and perfect.
“This,” she whispered. “I want this. I want you to touch me like this. I need you to touch me like this.”