Shredded - Wolff Tracy - Страница 18

“Oh, yeah?” Who is this girl and what has she done with Ophelia?

I know I should be concerned, but her face is only inches from mine now, and if I bend my head, I’ll be able to kiss her like I’ve wanted to from the first moment I saw her. I start to do just that, to press my lips to hers, but her sudden change of tune holds me back, tells me to take it slow. Something is up with her, and I don’t know what it is. The knowledge bothers me more than it should.

I mean, all the signs are there.

Her full lips are tilted up in a seductive smile.

Her sweet body is curved into mine.

Even her hands have taken up residence on my arms, her fingers curling around my biceps as if to hold me to her.

Yeah, she’s giving me all the right signals, and I should totally be taking advantage of them, stripping her down so that I can see and touch and kiss every inch of her beautiful, beautiful body.

Still, I’m hesitant. Something feels … off, though I can’t figure out what it is.

Then again, Ophelia must not be feeling the same trepidation, because she tilts her head up and answers, “Yeah,” to my earlier question, right before she makes the move I’ve been dying to make since the moment I first saw her. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and presses her gorgeous, perfect lips to mine.

Thank God.

It’s just a soft touch, her lips brushing over mine in a kiss as light as an early winter snowflake. Once, twice, then again and again until I feel like I’ll go crazy if I can’t touch her. If I can’t tilt her head back and thrust my tongue deep inside the recesses of her mouth. If I can’t pull her against me and feel her slick heat against my cock.

Though it kills me, I keep my hands clenched at my side and my lips gentle against hers. She started this. It’s only fair to let her lead for a few minutes so I can find out exactly where she wants this thing to go.

It’s a good plan, and it probably would have worked, too, except the seventh or eighth time her mouth brushes my own, she makes a low, needy sound deep in her throat. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard, and it shatters the stranglehold I’ve kept on my control from the moment she invited me in.

My hands come up of their own volition, my fingers tangling in her long, silky hair as I tilt her head to the side for better access. Then it’s my turn to take charge of the kiss. My turn to show her everything I want to do to her.

I run my tongue along the seam of her lips, licking softly, tenderly, toying with the perfect bow of her upper lip until she gasps and opens for me. I nip at her lower lip then, tugging gently at it with my teeth. She moans a little, her hand coming up to twist in my shirt, and that’s when I slip inside her, my tongue gliding between her lips and her teeth to play with her frenulum, the sensitive bit of skin that connects her upper lip to her gum.

She moans again, and this time the sound shoots straight through me. My cock, already hard, starts to throb in time with the blood roaring in my ears. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to strip her naked, press her up against the nearest wall, and fuck her until we’re both senseless with pleasure.

But Ophelia’s not that kind of girl. From the moment she dumped that drink on me, I knew she was different. That she’d require more than my usual fuck-and-run. It’s why I walked away from her that first night. And why I made that stupid bet, so I’d have an excuse to see her again when every instinct I have is shouting at me to stay as far away from her as I can.

That’s not going to happen, though. Not tonight, when she tastes like peaches and vanilla and sweet, delicious cream.

Not tonight, when she’s offering herself so fucking sweetly.

And definitely not tonight, when she’s holding on to me like she’d fall if I wasn’t here to support her.

Tilting her head back even more, I delve deep. I sweep my tongue over the back of her teeth before licking along the roof of her mouth and sliding it against and over and under her own. She tastes so good, feels so good, that I could do this for hours even if it means suffering the worst case of blue balls in history.

But Ophelia has other ideas. Her hands slide down my chest to my stomach, and then she’s tugging at my shirt, breaking our kiss only long enough to pull the thing over my head. Then she’s flinging it across the room even as she leans into me, her mouth picking up exactly where we left off. Only this time her eyes are open and I can’t help staring into the verdant depths of them. Here, now, they’re forest green, like the needles of the pine trees that make up so much of the landscape around here. They’re dark and mysterious and sexy as hell, and I want to spend the night staring into them as I make love to her, watching their color change as I kiss and lick and touch her.

Because Ophelia has that kind of eyes. I’ve spent the last few hours noticing how they reflect whatever she’s feeling, a different shade of green for every emotion she’s experiencing.

When she’s angry, her eyes are a brilliant emerald. When she’s happy, they’re a softer moss color. When she’s aroused, they’re this sexy forest green.

I’m dying—dying—to know what color they’ll be when she comes.

With that thought in mind, I reluctantly relinquish my hold on her hair and move my hands to somewhere they can do more good. She’s still wearing her thick jacket, so I unzip it and tug it down her arms before tossing it onto the counter behind her. Then I pull her sweater off and do the same thing to it. She’s got one more layer on, a thick turtleneck that hugs her full breasts and shows off her wicked crazy figure to its best advantage.

I take a step back so I can get a better look, and I swear my mouth nearly waters at the sight of her. “You’re so goddamn beautiful,” I tell her, and though it’s not the fanciest compliment I’ve given a girl, it’s definitely the most sincere.

Except the smile fades from Ophelia’s face as easily as it came. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” I answer, hooking my finger around the neckline of her turtleneck and dragging it down so that I can kiss her graceful neck. “But there’s a million things I want to do, including tell you that you’re gorgeous.”

I brush a line of kisses down her neck to her collarbone, but the damn turtleneck keeps getting in the way, so it’s my turn to strip her shirt off and fling it away. She’s still wearing a bra, a lacy black thing that matches the turtleneck and looks sexy as hell against her pale skin. The light is really dim in here, but if I look closely, I can see the hard press of her nipples against the delicate swirls of lace.

I want to touch, need to touch, so I lean forward and trace a line with my tongue across her breasts, right where the bra ends and she begins. Ophelia shudders, her hands clutching at my hair as her lower body rubs itself against mine.

Shit. Fuck. Goddamnit. She’s working herself against my cock, and if I don’t stop her soon, I’m going to come before we ever really get started. I haven’t done that since I was thirteen and losing my virginity in the back of Becky Martin’s parents’ car, and I have no intention of letting it happen now, no matter how hot Ophelia gets me.

And she’s got me hot. So hot I can’t breathe without pain, just as I can’t imagine walking away from this—from her—until I’ve had my fill.

Putting my hands on her hips, I lift her up until she’s sitting on the counter, her beautiful breasts only inches from my mouth. I know I should take the time to strip her bra off, but I can’t wait. Not now, when her hard little nipples are tempting me to touch and taste and take.

Bending down, I press a hot, openmouthed kiss over her right nipple before pulling it—lace bra and all—into my mouth and starting to suck.

“Z.” She calls my name even as she arches her back, pressing her breast more fully against my mouth.