Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
‘Do you want this kiss or not?’
Out of the hundred things she could’ve said. The hundred denials, explanations, or promises, this answer I like infinitely best.
‘Want. Definitely.’ A feeling I’ve become familiar with since opening my eyes to her in the hospital in March. I’m not a perfect man, and I never will be, but I’ll try to be perfect for her.
Her eyes seem to search every inch of my face before she tips up onto her toes. I meet her halfway, my lips slanting over hers. Dieu, it feels like it’s been a lifetime. Her lips are lush and sweet with the taste of champagne, and twice as intoxicating. But this kiss isn’t about me as she tastes and teases me, dancing her tongue between the seam of my lips.
‘I’ve missed this.’ Her admission is barely a whisper and tears at the centre of me.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘No. No more. Just kiss me. Kiss me properly.’
If there ever was a better direction, I’ve yet to hear it as I curl my hands around her hips, taking possession of this kiss, making it deeper and wetter and more passion-filled than any kiss in a kitchen has a right to be.
‘Kiss me again,’ she whispers, her voice taut as she tightens her arms around my neck. ‘Don’t stop.’ But I have no plans to, not as my hand spans her ribs to feel her breath tightening. I press my lips to her jaw and curve my thumb under her breast, the lace rough to touch as I slide it against the underside of the plump flesh.
‘I’ve missed the feel of you.’ The admission sounds as though dragged from the depths of my chest as she bows, pressing into my hand. I press my palm to her breast. My fingers. Soft swipes and pretty pinches, I alternate the sensations until she arches into my hand with the sweetest of sighs. My kisses traverse her jaw until I reach her ear. ‘But I’m not going to fuck you.’ She convulses against me; a revolt against my declaration or a want without words.
‘Why does that word sound so much more from your lips?’
‘No matter how much I ache to.’
I don’t answer. Can’t. My hand slides to the curve of her rear, pressing her against me with a growl, a growl countered by a soft moan. Heat rushes through my veins as I stagger forward, pressing her hard against the doorframe.
‘Maybe I’m not going to let you.’ Despite her soft words, I hear the invitation and see the provocation in her languid gaze. A second later, a low groan rises from the depths of my chest as she sucks my bottom lip into her mouth, sinking her teeth mercilessly into the flesh as though she’d keep me there. Lips pressing hard, tongues thrusting, my hand moving to the hem of her dress as she tilts her head, giving me access to the skin of her neck.
A crash like cymbals sounds from beyond the kitchen, a curse following. I don’t think I noticed any of it had Rose not stilled beneath me. But now that I stilled, I see that I’m ruining my own plans.
‘I can’t decide if your skin is softer here,’ I whisper, my fingers skimming her inner thigh. ‘Or here.’ I press the most teasing of open-mouthed kisses in the hollow below her ear, making her shiver.
‘You’re a tease, Remy Durrand.’
‘There’s pleasure in lingering. I’d like to show you again sometime.’ Sometime not now as I pull away. Her lips are slightly swollen and kiss pink, even if currently quirked mockingly. ‘Perhaps you’d let me linger in your kitchen again?’
‘You never give up, do you?’
Taking her palms in my hands, I move my shoulders in the tiniest of shrugs. Not until I get what I want, I hope it says. ‘This house is yours, and I hope one day you’ll invite me to be here with you.’
‘And in the meantime?’
‘I wait. Until you’re ready to say you love me.’
Until you’re ready to confess what your heart already knows.
* * *
Hénri takes Rose home after a much more sedate kiss at the front door, the kind that left her giggling and complaining about being watched and feeling like a schoolgirl. Like a lot of things between us, our high school dating experiences wildly differ. While she speaks of chaste good-night kisses behind hedges and places her mother couldn’t see, I can only recall the young mathematics teacher who didn’t last at the school very long, though long enough for me to lose my virginity. Willing chalet girls during ski holidays who were possessed with what seemed like at the time, a world of experience, and weekends of sneaking local girls into the school grounds during term time. Our experiences may be very different, but Rose and I, we are not. We both want.