Stealing Her (Covet 1)

He moved on top of me, probing my lips apart with his tongue as he dug his fingers into my hair like this was the first real kiss he’d had in forever. He kissed me like there had never been other women, just me. Only me. There was something so fulfilling about having his weight on me. I could feel how thick and muscular his thighs were as he pressed our bodies into the creamy suede couch. He angled his head as his hands grazed my ribs, slowly and delicately lifting my shirt higher. His touch singed my skin in a way it never had before. I was addicted to his taste. It wasn’t like coming home, not this time; it was like discovering something hidden that had been burning between us. It exploded in hundreds of soft touches and kisses and was now this uncontrollable tether. I refused to let go of his shirt as I bunched it in my hands. He straddled me and kissed me harder. A charge of excitement swept through me as his brazen hands moved to my jeans. I circled his neck with my arms as his lips spread out into a smile against my mouth. He didn’t unbutton my jeans. He didn’t move his hands under my shirt. He was trying to go slow, and I had no idea why.

That was out of character for him. At least when we were having sex and he wasn’t cheating, he was aggressive, he was always solely focused on us and only us, on finding release.

This version of him was focused on kissing.

I couldn’t decide if I liked it or if I was ready to strangle him and threaten him if he didn’t give me more than just a kiss, but his body, his hands were everything.

“You have the perfect mouth.” He pulled back, his eyes a bit crazed, his breathing heavy. “I could kiss you all day.”

“I can’t remember the last time we’ve kissed that long before sex.”

“No sex,” he said quickly. “I just want to enjoy you, enjoy this without making it about sex.”

My lower lip trembled as he cupped my chin and let out a little growl before tasting me again, before rocking his hips against mine. Little bouts of pressure hit me between my thighs. I arched a bit, rubbing my body against his as he kissed me deeper, held me harder against the couch. His hand came down on my shoulder, pushing me into the suede as he moved against me. He moaned and managed to pick me up to a sitting position so I was straddling him, legs on both sides, knees forced into the cushions while he kept kissing me. I could feel his erection straining against his pants, could feel his need for release like it was my own, because it was. Nothing but flimsy clothes and heat separated us, and yet he just kept kissing.

“You’re going to make yourself miserable,” I moaned against his mouth when he adjusted himself against me.

“Mmm . . .” was his only answer. And then, “Worth it.”

“Doesn’t have to be like this,” I said when he pulled me roughly against him.

He didn’t answer, just mimicked the movement again and clenched his teeth before devouring my mouth like it was his next meal, almost licking his way down my tongue, and then his hand cupped between my thighs. My body gave such a heightened jolt of pleasure that I couldn’t control the whimper that followed his touch or the next as he rubbed with the palm of his hand, so rough and so tender at the same time.

“Please don’t stop, this is crazy, please.” I clutched his shoulders, digging my fingers into his shirt and skin, holding on while I rode his hand, while I chased more pleasure with my clothes on than I’d ever had with them off. He coaxed and teased, I cried out, his name on my tongue. He kissed me like he didn’t want to hear it, like he wanted to make the moment more than that, and I let him, I let him drink in my next few words, my sentences as my heart hammered in my chest.

We broke apart, our eyes searching each other, his full of wonder, mine full of euphoria.

And I knew in that moment he’d somehow given me freedom, just like he promised.

Selfless.

I reached for him.

He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “This is about you, not me.”

“But—”

“I’m not stupid enough to believe I deserve something as special as your touch, Izzy. I’ll wait until you’re ready to trust this. I want you willing, not keeping track.”

What? We’d always kept things equal, in the bedroom, out of the bedroom, and then his father had happened, and college ended and, well, things just weren’t the same, because I was afraid to let him into the very same bed I’d found someone else in.