J.C. and the Bijoux Jolis (Blueberry Lane 3 - The Rousseaus #3)(8)
This time his eyes fixed on her pink lips, which were glistening and glossy in the dim light.
“A kiss,” he murmured, the words coming from nowhere.
“What?”
“A kiss. Yeah,” he said, leaning into the idea quickly and stepping closer to her, so close she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. “Give me a kiss and I’ll leave you alone.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she answered, though her voice was slightly weaker than it had been a moment before. “I’m not going to kiss you. Choose something else.”
“No.”
She took a sharp breath, averting her eyes from his for a moment before looking up at him again.
“I won’t give you one. But if it’ll get you off my back, you can kiss me.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Giving versus taking.”
“But I don’t just want to take,” he said, his voice dropping to gravel. “I want you to give too.”
“Why?” she asked, her forehead creasing with annoyance.
His heart thumped faster, and his cock, which was already pressing uncomfortably against the zipper of his tuxedo pants with intense arousal, throbbed. “Because I want you to participate.”
A small noise—so small, he would have missed it if they hadn’t been standing so close—issued from her throat, and when he flicked his glance downward for a moment, he realized that her chest, small though it was, heaved with every breath she took, her nipples straining against the thin, silky fabric of the bridesmaid dress.
He dragged his eyes back up her body, lingering on the pale skin of her delicate throat, stopping at her lips, which were softly parted, then finally slid his gaze to hers.
“So?” he prompted. “What’ll it be?”
“One kiss,” she confirmed.
To start. He nodded.
“One kiss and you’ll leave me alone for the rest of the weekend,” she said, her eyes dropping to his lips as she wetted her own.
“Sure. But you won’t want me to…leave you alone,” he teased, unable to keep his lips from grinning as her arousal became more plain to him.
She jerked her eyes back to his, the fire in their depths telling him she’d let him rot in hell before ever asking for another.
“One kiss,” she said. Raising her angular little chin, she nodded once. “Fine.”
***
The closeness of him—the proximity of his body—was making her breathless.
Fuck him for oozing sexy from every pore, like if she licked his skin, he’d taste like it. This would be so much easier if she wasn’t attracted to him, because she could give him one kiss and walk away from him forever like it never happened. But she had a dreadful, aching feeling that if she kissed Jean-Christian Rousseau, it would be an experience she’d never be able to forget.
Unfortunately, it was too late for misgivings.
She’d already agreed.
And besides, she needed him to leave her alone. Her relationship with KK trumped all, and it certainly trumped a cheap f*ck at a wedding with her brand-new brother-in-law. They weren’t going to “happen”—no how, no way—and the sooner he understood that, the better.
Taking a step forward, she raised her palms and slowly, slowly placed them on his chest, first the pads of her fingers, then the heels of her hands, until finally they rested, flush and full, against the crisp white linen of his shirt. Beneath her right palm, she could feel the thundering of his heart, and she furrowed her brows in confusion, wondering why it was beating so fast if this was just a game to him and she was just a plaything. Before she could muse on the topic any further, however, she felt the curve of his finger under her chin, lifting her head back so that she gazed up at him.
His eyes, so dark green as to appear black in the moonlight, stared down at her, searching her eyes for a long moment—much longer than needed for a kiss that meant nothing—as he repeated softly, “Though she be but little…”
It was her favorite quote of all time, and one that she had had professionally painted in chic white script on her powder-pink bedroom wall years ago when she moved to New York City. Hearing it now, issuing from his lips a second time in a handful of seconds, made her heart clutch and stutter unexpectedly, and she gasped a breath of surprise, holding it as his lips descended, with unerring precision, to hers.
…she be fierce.
His mouth sealed over hers as he swallowed her exhalation of breath, his tongue exploring the seal between their lips with an unexpected gentleness that made her fingers curl lightly into his shirt, and she stepped tip-toe onto his shoes to even out their height difference and press her body closer to his.
She felt the hard ridge of his erection immediately, and his hands, which had been cupping her face, slid down her back to cup her ass, forcing her closer so that the soft inward curve of her sex cradled the bulging hardness of his.
Ring.
Their kiss became hotter and more desperate, Jean-Christian’s tongue sliding against the length of hers as his hands kneaded her backside, pushing her close as he thrust against her hard enough that she felt the pressure of his rigid cock, through layers of clothing, against her clit.
Ring.
Something’s ringing. The thought slipped into her mind for a moment, then exited just as quickly as his palm, wide and sure, slid up the left side of her body, stopping just under her breast. He tilted his head, changing the angle of their kiss, and Libitz arched her back, inviting him to touch her more intimately.