Chasing The Sun (Angel Sands 7)

She nodded. “Yes, please.”

Her easy acquiescence filled him with warmth. She reached for him, sliding her hands beneath his t-shirt, her palms caressing his back. Her nearness was overwhelming. He couldn’t remember ever craving somebody like this. He pressed a tender kiss against her lips, desire flooding through his body the same way it always did when she was near. Lydia sighed softly, her breath tickling his mouth. She kissed him back hard, arching her body into his as though he’d lit a fuse inside of her.

He was immediately hard. Emotions whirled and kicked inside him as he slid his hands down her sides, cupping her behind to pull her closer against him. When she felt the outline of his desire against her, she curled her arms around his neck, her tongue sweeping against his as they both gave in to the need they were feeling.

She was the first to pull back, her face flushed, her eyes wild.

“We need some ground rules,” she said breathlessly. “Otherwise we’re going to end up defiling Autumn and Griff’s living room, and they’ll never let us babysit again.”

Jackson nodded. “Maybe we should pick a base,” he suggested. “And make a pact to go no further.” Until he got her back to his place, at least.

“First?” Lydia said, wrinkling her nose. “No, let’s make it second. Any self-respecting babysitter would let her boyfriend get to second.”

“Am I your boyfriend?” Jackson asked, wanting to know the answer.

“For the purposes of this discussion you are.” She bit down a smile. “Maybe we should pretend we’re teenagers. You can be the football god and I’ll be…” her voice trailed off as she thought through the options. “Definitely not the head cheerleader. That would be boring, and so predictable.” Her eyes lit up. “I know, I’ll be the nerd you’re completely attracted to, but you only make out with me when none of your friends are around. I can be your dirty little secret.”

The way she said dirty made the blood rush to parts he was trying to control. “We’re playing make believe again?”

“It’ll be fun,” she told him. “Let me show you.” She led him into the living room, and pushed him down onto an easy chair. “Jackson Lewis, the next time you want me to tutor you, maybe you could not touch me beneath the table.”

He wanted to laugh. She looked so adorable as she tried to get into character. It made him wonder what she was really like when she was at school.

“Yeah, well if you’d stop staring at my dick every time I’m wearing my football pants, maybe I’d be able to concentrate.” Hey, maybe this was easier than he’d thought. And yeah, he might be a thirty-three year old guy pretending to be a teenager, but if it made her happy, then why the hell not?

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Her eyes narrowed. “I hate you.”

“I hate you, too.” His mouth was dry with the need of her.

She let out a little scream of annoyance and leaned over him, her hands bracing herself against the wings of the chair. If he’d met her when he was a teenager, he’d have been toast. She would have overwhelmed him.

Who was he kidding? She was overwhelming him now.

His eyes dipped, taking in the smooth lines of her neck, the dip at the base of her throat, and the top that gaped open as she leaned. He could see the soft outline of her breasts, and his fingers curled with the need to touch her.

“Look at the eyes, not the tits, Lewis.”

“Your tits are more interesting than your eyes.”

“Yeah, well your dick is a hundred times more intelligent than your brain.” She gave him a dirty look. “But we all have our crosses to bear.”

“Come here,” he told her.

“Why?” she asked coyly. Her half-smirk made his skin heat up.

“Because I want to try out a theory.”

“What kind of theory?” she asked. “If it’s got anything to do with my chest, it’s a no.”

“I won’t touch your chest,” he told her, his voice low. “Not until you beg me to. And you will beg me to.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” she muttered. But she still climbed over him, her knees on either side of his legs, her body lifted so it didn’t touch his. His dick was straining against his jeans.

“Kiss me,” he told her.

“What? No.” Her brow crinkled. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you think about it every time you look at me.” He sat up until his face was inches from hers. He could feel her hot breath against his skin. “Because you’ve never been kissed, and if you’re going to kiss anybody, you should do it with somebody who knows what they’re doing.”