Sunday, 24 November 2013

Sunday Snog

Oh it's Sunday, my favourite day of the week. Not just because Mr H is home and we are going for a long beach walk, cooking a roast dinner and then popping the cork on a nice bottle of red, but also because it's time for a big, juicy Sunday Snog! Yes please I hear you shout! So here goes, this week one from Cross-Checked, book #2 in my Hot Ice series (if you want to read a snog from book #1 that was last week and you can catch up here).

When we pulled up outside my building I dismounted and fluffed my hair. He climbed off, lifted his shades to his forehead and balanced our helmets on the seat.
“Thanks for lunch,” I said.
“My pleasure. Come on, I’ll walk you to your door.” He glanced up and down the quiet street.
“But it’s just there.”
“So, I’ll walk you. Make sure you get home okay.” He shrugged.
“It's broad daylight and this really is a very nice area.” I smiled and frowned at the same time.
“So, it’s a date. I have rules. I want to make sure you get home safely.”
I wasn’t sure how safe I was with Brick around. My body didn’t feel as if it was under control. Sin and a craving for dirty deeds were only a whisper away. The date had been exciting and charged with sexual tension and the fact he’d talked so freely about his emotional needs had only added a new, deeper layer to my admiration of him.
He pressed a hand into the small of my back and urged me to the entrance of my building. I keyed in the code and stepped into the shaded cool of the small communal lobby .
I turned to Brick as the door clicked shut.
He reached out and pressed the palm of his right hand to my cheek. “Thanks for coming to lunch,” he said quietly. “I had a real nice time.”
“Me too.” I leaned my cheek into his hand even though I knew I should say something tempting and suggestive then walk away. That was my plan. Not leaning into his calloused palm and staring up into his eyes. Definitely not swaying toward him as blood pounded to every erogenous zone I possessed. That was not what I was supposed to be doing. No way.
He stepped closer and his big body loomed over mine. His shoulders were impossibly wide in my peripheral vision. “Carly,” he murmured.
“Yes.” I studied the shadows slicing across his profile and a haze of fair stubble dusting his jaw and chin.
“Am I allowed to kiss you on a first date?” He lowered his head and heat from his sweet breath washed over my cheek.
I looked deeper into his eyes, sparkling from beneath hooded lids. They were the color of the forest floor gilded with late-afternoon sunlight. I’d dreamed of this moment. Looked at his eyes in magazines and on TV and wondered what it would be like to have them really there, hovering over me and brimming with desire.
Now I knew.
Now I knew it was wonderful. It felt like the moment I’d pushed my front pedal through the finish line in first position and heard the crowd lift the roof of the velodrome.
“You’re taking a long time to decide,” he whispered as his other hand came up and circled the back of my neck. He tucked his fingers into my long hair and cradled the base of my skull.
I caught my breath. The possessiveness of the touch knotted my stomach. The way he was holding my head was so dominant, so utterly masculine. “Yes,” I said quietly as darts of sensitivity snaked across my scalp. “Kissing is allowed.”
He gave the tiniest of smiles, then his lips were on mine. Soft and gentle but also confident and determined. His tongue probed, I opened up and the tip slid into my mouth and met mine. I let out a small moan of pleasure.
He continued to hold my head firm but the hand on my cheek dropped to my shoulder. His fingertips pressed into my flesh—stopped me falling into him and molding my body with his.
“You taste so good,” he said into my mouth before dipping back in for another sample. This time it was hotter, more urgent. Soon it was a full, open-mouthed kiss that made my head spin and my heart ricochet off my chest wall. He was devouring me and I was taking what I could from him.
I pressed my hands to the front of his chest and curled my fingers over his collarbone. The raw power beneath my palms was intoxicating, edgy. I wanted more. I wanted that power driving into me. I wanted him naked and at my mercy. I wanted to own him, pleasure him. I wanted to drag him upstairs and forget my crazy plan. I had basic needs demanding to be met. Now.
He broke the kiss. “I have to go,” he said breathlessly.
He released me, took a step back and reached for the door. “I’m sorry, Carly, but I have to go.”
My arms fell to my sides and I faltered to regain my balance. I wasn’t sure how my watery legs were managing to support me. And my spine, my spine had turned to dust.
“I’ll call you.” His lips were moist. His jaw set like stone.
“Sure,” I said in a hoarse voice.
He pulled open the door and heat from outside blasted in. “I’ll call you tomorrow, from Seattle.”
And then he was gone.
The door slammed shut on its heavy spring.
I pressed my fingertips to my lips, tingling from the pressure of his kiss. I could taste his tongue on mine and still feel his hand in my hair. What the hell had happened? I was just about to throw all my plans in the air and get naked and primitive and he walked away.
I turned and stabbed at the elevator button. Broke a nail. The doors opened immediately and I stomped in and hit two.
He’d wanted me. I had no doubts about that. I’d seen it in his eyes. Felt it in his kiss. I could even smell desire in the air, his and mine. It was thick and vital, another presence.
I stomped out of the elevator and let myself into my condo. Dashed straight to the balcony doors and peered out. He was climbing onto his bike. I watched as he adjusted his position on the seat and roared the engine awake.
He turned and looked up.
I ducked behind the curtain.
The bike bellowed then screamed up the gears as he charged off. A loud, rude noise in the quiet street. So much for being inconspicuous. So much for my cool, calm plan.

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