“Wasn’t paying enough attention to pull my punches properly.”
“Oh.” She liked hearing that. A lot.
“Yes, oh. Want to take a guess what I was thinking about?”
“Your best friend’s Bar Mitzvah?” she couldn’t help teasing. She was feeling giddy.
“Not Jewish and neither is he.”
“The government cover-up of alien visitations?”
“Not a conspiracy nut.”
She was grinning as he reeled her into his body. “How best to utilize your retirement fund?”
“Brat.” Then he kissed her and all desire to tease fled, along with coherent thought.
His mouth fit perfectly over hers, his lips using just the right pressure to send tingles of awareness radiating outward until she could feel this one perfect kiss in her toes. She responded, letting her tongue dart out to taste. He groaned and suddenly their tongues were sliding against each other and his arms were around her, pressing their bodies together.
His skin was so warm and soft under her hands, his muscles so hard.
She caressed along his sides, around his back and over his chest, loving the feel of his curly chest hair under her fingers. Her hands could not stay still though. They sought out one treasure after another. Hard male nipples, well-defined pecs, biceps that bulged under her fingertips, inviting her to grip them tight and hard.
She mapped his every bulge and valley of muscle with the investigative fervency of an obsessed topographer.
This man could so easily become her obsession, probably was already, if she was honest with herself. And she did try to be.
She couldn’t believe she could touch and feel to her heart’s content. Was there such a thing? She didn’t think she would ever grow tired of caressing this man, her desire to touch never completely sated.
His hair was cut Marine short, the high and tight even more compact than on other men because of Max’s tight nap. It felt amazingly sexy against her palms and she writhed against him, her hands on his head, pulling him closer, moaning into the kiss.
His arm made a shelf under her buttocks and then he lifted. They were moving, his hold on her strong, his mouth masterful.
Both their eyes were open, but while his were watching where he carried her, hers were fixed on him. He was just so incredibly gorgeous and even more so with that look of desire in his sherry-brown eyes.
She landed on the guest room bed with him on top of her. And wasn’t that just perfect?
He thrust his hips against her, his hard-on pressing, teasing, making her whimper. “You’re wearing too many clothes, Professor.”
She’d heard that word tens of thousands of times in her academic career, sometimes directed at others, sometimes at herself. Never before had it sounded like a synonym for sweetheart.
“So’re you.” Naked would be good. Oh, yes. Really, really good.
He gave that delicious laugh even as he started unbuttoning her blouse. He pulled it open and then gave a low whistle. “Nice.”
She wiggled out of the top. “Nice would be naked.”
He nodded, moving so he could get her jeans too. She didn’t like wearing shoes or socks, if she could get away with it, so he didn’t have any hindrance to pulling the jeans right off. Other than the fact that they were the tightest pair she owned, but that didn’t seem to hamper his efforts even a little.
She’d never gotten this particular pair of pants off as fast.
When they were gone, he stopped and just shook his head. “Damn.”
It sounded more like damn fine than a curse so she let him look his fill without worrying what he was thinking.
“I like the panties.” She was wearing a fire-engine red thong. “But you’re missing your bra today, professor.”
“I thought it might help my cause.” That and her tight jeans. She could admit she’d brought them along on the extremely off chance she somehow saw Max while she was in Boston.