All Summer Long (Fool's Gold #9)(40)

She slipped her arms under his and rested her hands on his back. She traced the thick muscles, enjoying the way they rippled under her touch. He put his hand on her hip.

The casual act should have gone unnoticed. He’d done it last time. But in her present position—on her back, on the sofa, it was more intimate. She was aware of the light weight of his hand, of the heat from his fingers. At the same moment she was reminded of the growing ache in her br**sts.

And then she knew. She wanted him to touch her br**sts. She wanted to feel his hands and fingers touching her.

She believed in making a decision and accepting the consequences. But what worked in the rest of her life didn’t seem to apply right now. Was it okay to move her hand? Should she wait for him to figure it out? How on earth did anyone get through all this without going crazy?

Clay raised his head. “Someone’s lost interest.”

“What?”

“You stopped kissing me back.”

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

“Big mistake.” He moved his hand from her hip to her cheek. “Getting scared?”

“No. I’m fine.”

His eyes were dark and filled with something she hoped was passion. There was an easy way to check, but in their current positions, she couldn’t exactly look for an erection without being obvious.

“Then what?” he asked.

His voice was gentle. Concerned. Her gaze locked with his as the steady ache grew. She sucked in a breath, told herself she would survive whatever happened, then put her fingers on his wrist and slowly drew his hand down to her breast.

He continued to look in her eyes as he closed his hand over her breast. “I take it back,” he murmured. “Think as much as you want.”

His fingers moved lightly as he explored her. When he brushed across her nipple, she felt a jolt all the way down to her groin. Without thinking, she arched toward him and parted her legs. Before she could slam her knees back together, he was kissing her again, making it impossible to do anything but feel and kiss him back.

Sensation flooded her. He seemed to know exactly how to touch her so that her breath caught in her throat. Deep kisses competed with his hand touching every inch of her breast. He kept returning to her nipple, brushing it more firmly every time until he finally took it between his thumb and index finger and squeezed gently.

Another jolt had her holding in a moan. Images of him touching her without her T-shirt and bra filled her brain until she couldn’t think about anything else. The wanting took on a desperate edge.

She broke free of the kiss and pushed him back long enough to pull off her shirt. She reached for her bra, only to stumble to a stop as reality intruded. What on earth was she doing?

Before indecision could take over, Clay was there, his hands reaching behind her to unfasten the hooks. Then he looked into her eyes.

“Hold it in place until you’re ready,” he told her.

He shifted on the sofa, angling toward her. He bent down and lightly kissed the side of her neck. Damp, hot kisses trailed from her left collarbone to her right, then back. Slipping lower and lower with each pass. She sagged back on the cushions and closed her eyes. The sense of safety returned, along with the desire.

Nice, she thought as his lips brushed her skin. Better than nice. She relaxed and tossed the bra to the side.

Seconds later his mouth settled on her breast. Warm, wet heat surrounded her tight nipple. He used his tongue to battle with the tip, then sucked deeply.

She was unprepared for the erotic ride. Desire flooded her as pleasure melted her bones. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, could only get lost in the delicious sensations washing through her body. She moaned and grabbed his shoulders. At the same time she arched her body toward his.

He moved to the other breast and caressed her the same way again. With each pull of his mouth, her body tensed. Need collected between her legs until she was ready to beg for relief.

He returned to kissing her mouth and used his hands on her br**sts. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, knowing she needed to crawl inside of him, or have him inside of her. Her blood was thick, her muscles trembled as every cell in her body awakened to the delight of this man.

“Clay,” she breathed, an invitation in the word.

He sat up.

She sighed in relief, ready to rip off his clothes, her clothes, anyone’s clothes.

But instead of undoing his shirt or reaching for his jeans, he bent down and collected her T-shirt, then carefully draped it over her. Then he stood.

She stared at him. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving.”

She was amazed at how quickly passion could transform to anger. “What? You do that to me and then leave? We’re not going to have sex?”

“You’re not ready.”

“You don’t get to say what I am.”

He leaned in and lightly kissed her. “I know that anticipation is better than fear. Trust me, Charlie. You’re not the only one suffering.”

As he straightened, she saw his erection straining at his jeans.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She pulled her T-shirt over her head and smoothed it into place. “Fine. Leave. Whatever. I don’t care.” She had more to say but noticed he wasn’t looking at her face. Instead he seemed very focused on her braless chest.