“Good morning,” he replied, stifling the moan building in his chest. “Sleep well?” he asked, moving his hands back to her arms.
“Better. Thanks to you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Kendall. Holding you isn’t a sacrifice.”
“Don’t be too sure. Not many people have risen to the challenge.”
“That’s because you don’t give them a chance,” he noted.
She paused, moving her body closer as she replied, “I’m giving you a chance.”
Dawson held his breath. Her tone had changed, and she’d raised her face even with his. His heart raced. If she asked him to make love to her, he wouldn’t be able to refuse. “Kendall…”
She pressed her finger to his lips, silencing him. “Don’t,” she said, bending down to brush her lips against his. “Don’t talk… don’t think… just act.” She moved her finger and slanted her mouth over his.
Dawson felt her tongue sweep into his mouth, tasting, exploring, melding with his before retreating and then probing again. Her pursuit was forceful, but hinted with just a touch of hesitation. The mixture extinguished any reservations holding him back. He tightened his embrace, palming her back as he rolled her over, pressing his weight onto her. Her breasts were firm against his chest, her nipples hard pinpoints that raked across his body. He could feel them through her thin tank, begging him to touch them, devour them with his mouth.
In one fluid motion he fisted the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, tossing it to the floor. Her skin was pale, like rich cream, and he couldn’t halt his tongue from darting out, teasing her peaked bud. She shuddered beneath him, tightening her grip on his shoulders. He smiled, lowering his mouth to her breast, curling his tongue around her nipple, sipping it into his mouth.
“Oh, Kendall. Your skin is so soft, darling. So damn soft.”
She whispered his name as he caressed her with his hands, suckling her other nipple, laving it with his tongue. Her chest was rising and falling against his lips, her head thrown back against the pillow. She was panting, digging her nails into his back, moaning at every flick of his tongue as he teased each nipple until she cried out in protest, straining her hips against his thigh. He could feel the soft brush of silk against his leg, the only scrap of clothing she still had on. It was smooth, like her skin, but damp with the essence of her arousal. He groaned, remembering how sweet she tasted in his dream. Dammit, if he wasn’t going to drink every drop of honey from between her legs.