Page 22 of Against the Clock
“I’m good,” I say, and in fact, my legs are shaking slightly with need.
“Are you cold?” he asks, noticing it and frowning.
“No,” I say, and swallow another nervous laugh.
“You’re shaking,” he says, and lies down beside me on the bed, tucking me into his warm body. He’s still wearing his suit pants, and they slide against my bare thighs. “You know, they say body heat is the best way to get warm.”
“I’ve heard that, but I’m not cold.”
He props himself up on an elbow, leaning over me. There’s not a hint of a smile on his face. “Why are you shaking?”
His hand skates across my thigh. The shivering ratchets up a bit and I bite my lip, sucking in a breath.
“Is it me? Are you afraid?”
“What?” The question explodes out of me. “No, I’m not afraid. I’m so turned on I think I might die.” A twinge of embarrassment at my admission makes my lips curl up.
He leans over me, still stroking his big, calloused hand over my legs. Legs I’m now very glad I shaved this morning. Good looking out, past me.
I shiver again and a low moan tears out of me as his fingertips trek further up, to the edge of my underwear at my hip.
“I don’t want you to die,” he says. “Unless it’s the little death that all those old poets loved to write about.”
I huff a laugh, but it doesn’t last long, his hands wandering all over my body as I lie tucked in tight next to him.
“Take off your pants,” I make myself say.
“No,” he says easily. “I want you to stop shaking.”
“I’m not going to until you get me off,” I say, then wish I could will the words back in. “I know. It’s weird. But it’s adrenaline and tension release, and apparently it’s somewhat normal, I promise.” I’m rambling and I stop myself, embarrassment growing by the second.
“That’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” he growls. He’s on me in a flash and I groan into his mouth, his stubble tickling my chin, his tongue insistent. “I love that I have barely touched you and you’re already shaking for me.”
I moan as his hands go to my breasts, rubbing them gently beneath my bra.
“Tell me I can take this off,” he says.
“Please take it off.” I’m close to begging and I don’t care.
He does so with practiced ease, and once again, all I can think is that Daniel Harrison knows exactly what he’s doing.
My bra sails onto the floor and he stops kissing me.
“You’re gorgeous, Kelsey Cole.” His blue eyes find mine. “Did you know that?”
I don’t answer because I don’t really know how to. All I know is that he’s making me feel good. His mouth covers my nipple and I cry out wordlessly at the intensity of the pressure building inside me.
His hand teases my other breast, and then it drifts down, down to the thin layer of cotton covering my most private parts.
“Please,” I whisper, and he raises his head from my breast, a devilish smile on his face.
He kisses me again, lingering over my mouth, so slow and sensuous it’s overwhelming.
“Please,” I say again.
“Please what?” he finally asks, pulling away from me. “What do you want, Kelsey?”
“Touch me,” I beg, my breath coming in short pants.