Her Wicked Heart by Ember Casey Page B

or twice they brush past the bottom hem of my shirt and touch the strip of skin above my jeans. His curls tickle my temple, and I can see the pulse at his throat.
    I just want to stay like this. Safe in his arms. No talk of feelings. No worry about how I should be dealing with things. Just a few moments of silence without judgment or guilt. Just the knowledge that in spite of everything, another human being wants to be near me. To help me.
    I tilt my head, pressing my cheek against his neck. I feel more than hear the intake of his breath. His fingers press against my back. When I lift my face, I find his eyes have darkened. My stomach tightens, but either I’m drunk on the easy familiarity of it all or just cursed with perpetual weakness, because I can’t move.
    He raises his hands to my cheeks, his thumbs against my throat, and for a long time he just gazes at me.
    He moves slowly, as if afraid he might frighten me. And to be honest—I am frightened. I’m scared of what I can tell he wants to do. I’m scared of what will happen if he doesn’t do it. I’m afraid of wandering back out into the darkness.
    But he makes the decision for me. His lips come down gently upon my own, and I can taste the sweet tea he had with his dinner. My mouth falls open slightly beneath his, as if it has a mind of its own, and his hands tighten gently on my face.
    My heart thumps. I should stop this.
    “Never again,” I whisper against his mouth, echoing the words he used to tell me every night in Thailand. The words we used to promise each other that every time would be our last.
    They were a lie then, and they’re a lie now.
    For a moment he pulls back and looks at me again. I know, like me, he’s questioning the wisdom of our decision to see each other again. To kiss each other again. But the decision has already been made, and we both know it.
    “Never again,” he murmurs in agreement before dipping his head and tasting my lips once more.
    “Never again.” His hands drift down my body, skimming over my breasts and gliding to my hips.
    “Never again.” His fingers slip beneath the fabric of my blouse and press against the bare skin of my stomach.
    His tongue dances along my bottom lip, and mine moves to meet it. And that’s all it takes—the moment they touch, all hesitation leaves him. He pulls me against him, pressing his mouth hard against my own. I lean into him, molding my body to his, drowning in the refuge of his arms. All of my doubts disappear in the simple pleasures of his touch, and my body takes over, my instincts flaring to life. My arms loop around his neck, and I slide my leg across him, straddling his lap.
    “Lou,” he says against my mouth.
    I grind against him, and a jolt of pleasure shoots through me at his answering groan. I lose my fingers in his curls, and his hands tug at my shirt, pulling it up my body and over my head. My bra goes next. With a pinch of his fingers, the clasp comes undone, and he pulls the straps down off my arms before tossing it aside.
    His gaze drifts down across my throat to my bare chest. My nipples tighten against the cool air, and he reaches up and rolls one breast beneath his warm hand. I tilt my head back as the sensations rush through me. I missed losing myself beneath Ian’s gentle fingers. He had a year to learn how I like to be touched.
    His head comes down and his lips brush against my jaw, my throat. He kisses a path downward, worshiping my bare skin with his lips. His mouth traces a line across my collarbone, then dips lower to my breast.
    I grind against him again. Beneath my spread legs, I can feel how much he wants me. I shift my body purposefully, pressing against him through our clothes and moving my hips in gentle circles on his lap. He groans deep in his throat and moves his lips more passionately against my breast.
    It was always so easy, so beautiful between me and Ian. His touch is soft but deliberate, and I melt like honey beneath his hands and lips. He