Caught in the Act

Her blue eyes were warmer, softer, and he rumbled, “Again.”

She looked at his mouth, bent, stroked his bottom lip with her hot little tongue. “Do you like that?” she breathed.

He groaned.

Still so close he tasted her breath, she asked, “You’re not married or anything, are you?”

“No.”

“At first, I was afraid Angel or Celia—”

“No.” Using his left hand, he touched her hair. Warmth, softness. “I love your hair.” He tangled his fingers in the silky mass and brought her mouth back flush with his.

“Thank you,” she murmured, and obligingly gave him the longer kiss he wanted.

Dull pain pushed at Mick, but he blocked it from his mind. It was nothing compared to the feel of her. “Open your mouth.”

She did, then accepted the slow, deliberate thrust of his tongue. He stroked deep, taking her mouth, exploring all the textures and heat, and the taste that was uniquely Delilah.

They both groaned.

Delilah pulled back. She touched his jaw and asked, “Did I hurt you?”

He had to stop this or he’d lose it completely. “Of course not.”

“I’m not married or anything, either.”

Mick, still on the verge of a meltdown, managed to lift a brow at that candid disclosure, and she shrugged. “I just thought you should know,” she said, her words coming in soft, uneven pants, “being as we’re…well, doing this.”

“This?” She stayed close and the scent of her, lighter now and touched with lotion and powder, filled him. He wanted to wrap himself in it, wanted to hold her close to his body until their scents mingled.

“The whole sex thing.” She drew a breath, but kept her gaze steady, unwavering. “I assume that’s where we’re headed. I mean, I’ll have you all to myself in my apartment and I want you. I assume you want me, too.”