Portia
Bledsoe is new in town. She inherited a house and property from a
great-uncle she barely knew. She meets Wood Cirocco through her
friendly neighbor, Carl—he's Carl's nephew. They immediately hit it
off.
Wood
brought my hand to his mouth, brushing the base of my thumb with his
lips. I shivered, closing my eyes. He kissed me so softly, it took a
moment to register. At first, it was the warmth of his breath,
followed by the lightest brush of skin on skin. He took my face in
his hands, drawing me close, as his mouth possessed mine.
Gasping
delightedly, I stepped closer, pressing my body against his. My
fingers snaked in his hair, enjoying the thick, curly tangle. He lit
fires in me I didn't know existed until I met him. Never, in our
entire relationship, did Cory make me feel what Wood managed to do in
less than two days. His lean, muscular body held promises of the
delights to come, if only I would give in to my own desire and take
him to bed.
It
would be so easy to shuffle those twenty odd feet to the guest
bedroom and rip his clothing off. But I knew I wouldn't. I'd never
bedded a man I barely knew and I wasn't going to start now, but that
didn't mean I couldn't enjoy those delicious lips. We kissed what
seemed like forever, for once, not interrupted. He held me close, his
strong arms cradling my body, rubbing his hips on mine, making me
very aware of the rest of him. I hungered for it, needed it!
With
a gasp, I pushed his mouth away. Disheveled and panting, we stared at
one another. Wood took a step back, the back of his hand brushed
against his lips and he dropped his head. I stepped forward, touching
his cheek. I couldn't help myself. I didn't want to break that
connection. Something had happened between us that I couldn't explain
and didn't want to.
“The—the
guys will be here—soon.” He cleared his throat, backing up
another step. “I'm. . . .”
“Don't
you dare say you're sorry for that,” I warned.
He
chuckled. “No. I was just going to finish getting dressed.” He
backed another step, nearly colliding with the wall.
“I
suppose I should put on a bra,” I said without thinking. Dropping
my head, I walked past him quickly.
“Not
on my account,” he said, catching my hand as I passed. “This
isn't my imagination, is it?” He gestured between us.
“No.
Decidedly not.”
“Good.
That was good.”
“Very
good.”
He
stepped toward me again, touching my cheek. He looked like he wanted
to kiss me again. I wouldn't have minded, but someone banged on the
door.
©
2015 Dellani Oakes
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