Perfect Strangers

He leans down to nuzzle my neck. “Good thing, too, because I’m not into guys.”

He inhales deeply against my throat. Goosebumps erupt over every inch of my skin.

“You know what I mean. Compared to you, I’m sort of…gelatinous. Jiggly. Like Jell-O.”

He lifts his head, gazes deep into my eyes, takes one of my hands and presses it against the monster straining for release under the zipper of his jeans, and murmurs, “I love Jell-O. Can’t you tell?”

Before I can sigh dreamily and slide off the sofa to lie in a bedazzled heap on the floor, he settles his pelvis between my spread thighs and lowers his upper body against mine, balancing on his elbows above me. Then he kisses me again, a deep, slow kiss that has me squirming underneath him within seconds.

I need to remember to send Estelle a thank you note for buying such a large and comfortable sofa.

James chuckles against my mouth. “Is all this wriggling an escape attempt or am I doing something right?”

“You’re fishing for compliments again. That’s a bad habit of yours, Romeo.”

His lips brush against mine, whisper soft. His voice comes very low. “It’s not about compliments. It’s about feedback. I want to make you feel good. I want to know what you like.”

Heat detonates throughout my body, leaving me tongue tied and sweating. The heat wave is followed by panic, because I don’t have any idea what I’m going to put on the list he demanded of all the things I want him to do to me in bed.

Though they’re two of my favorite things, cuddling and foot massage are probably not what he has in mind.

I say meekly, “Oh, okay. Um…this is very nice.”

One of his brows climbs. “Nice? Hmm.”

The hmm sounds vaguely threatening, but I don’t have time to dwell on it. I’m too preoccupied trying not to die at the electric touch of his tongue against my bare stomach.

He pushes my T-shirt up so my bra is exposed and bends his head to my belly, licking and kissing a slow path from the bottom of my bra to the top button of my jeans. I lie frozen, panting, staring glassy-eyed at the ceiling, convinced his tongue is equipped with tiny electrodes due to the pulsing currents of electricity shooting straight down between my legs.

When he sinks his teeth into my flesh, I jump, gasping.

“Too hard?” His voice is muffled by my skin. He kisses where he nipped, his mouth gentle.

“N—no. Just wasn’t ready for it. Ignore me. Busy dying. Proceed.”

He rewards my breathless blathering with an indulgent chuckle and a firm squeeze of his big hands around my waist. He flicks open the button on my jeans with his thumb, then eases the zipper down, nuzzling his nose deep into my panties.

When he gently bites me there, too, I moan.

“That sounds encouraging,” he whispers. “Let’s see if I can get you to do it again.”

He tugs on the waistband of my jeans, sliding them past my hips to the middle of my thighs. Then he pulls down my panties and stares at me, exposed and trembling.

His eyes burning black with desire, he licks the pad of his thumb, slips it between my legs, and presses down on the engorged bud of my clitoris.

I suck in a breath, closing my eyes. When he lazily strokes his thumb up and down, I give him the moan he wanted, this one louder than before.

“Tell me what you want, Olivia.”

“I want…” To not have to talk about what I want.

“Be brave. Talk to me.”

His voice is soft and hypnotic. His thumb is wreaking havoc on my body. It’s probably the combination of the two that makes me blurt, “I want your mouth.”

He makes a pleased hum. “Good. Where?”

“You’re killing me,” I say, panting, my eyes squeezed shut. My hips start to flex in time with the up and down strokes of his thumb.

He teases, “You’re a writer. Use a few of all those big words you must know.”

When he slides his thumb inside me, I groan, arching.