Just to Have You (Blackwood & Friends #3)

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Ben: "It is more about personable qualities, really. The more accomplished, compassionate, empathetic women of my acquaintance hold my attentions longer."

Griff: "So attraction has nothing to do with it, then?"

Ben: "Well... it certainly helps."

(B & G conversation on attraction 2 years prior)

He looked confused for a moment and... dangerous. "Griff, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Damn it, Oliver, I need you to kiss me before I change my mind," she blurted, stamping her foot slightly in agitation.

The harshness of his countenance broke followed by a torrid of surprise, and then he stepped against her, his hands framing her face and tilting her up to him. "Don't change your mind," he breathed and the first touch of his lips against hers was a gentle whisper, barely a touch at all, and Amy leaned into him. "God, please do not change your mind."

His warmth pressed into her skin where their bodies met and she shivered lightly at the contact. He had touched her a thousand times before, in a plethora of different ways, but this was different, so vastly different, and her body was responding with a steady burn.

"I won't."

When his lips touched hers again there was more pressure this time, though his gentleness astounded and titillated her. He seemed intent to savour and draw out the moment, brushing his mouth with tantalising slowness against hers, exploring every contour of the design of her lips. He caught her bottom lip, softly teasing, softly pulling, and his breath was warm against her skin, shared with hers, as it feathered against her cheeks.

His tongue suddenly traced the contour of the same lip he had been tormenting and she inhaled sharply at the explicit contact, her eyes sliding closed. Belatedly, she was cognizant of her fingers curling into the lapels of his coat, urging him closer and for more. She stood on the tips of her toes, straining to reach him, and a small sound of frustration emerged at his withholding, his relentless control.

Oliver's laugh was soft, husky. "More?"

Amy didn't care what she sounded like, didn't care that her fingers tightened in the fine fabric of his coat as she pulled him closer to her. "More," she whimpered and, Lord, he obliged.

When his lips took hers this time, Oliver seemed intent on branding her with the arduous way his mouth slanted over hers. He pushed her apart, crushingly gentle and sensuous, in an endless dance that hitched her breath. At the same time his tongue plunged into her, his fingers shifted to cradle the back of her head and neck, threading her hair, holding her open to every whim of his mouth.

There was nothing innocent about the way he was kissing her- he was claiming her with his tongue and lips, pushing into her again and again until her mind reeled at the astonishingly slick heat of his slaking tongue against her own. Her body was responding in mindless surges with each press of his lips, with each slaking caress, and she shifted her hips restlessly, urgently, against him. As she inadvertently pushed into his arousal a shudder coursed through him, a shared groan stirring their joined mouths.

He allowed their lips to linger together for a slow moment, tasting her tentatively, before he parted and there was a reluctance in the way in which he moved them apart slightly. His hands dropped from her curls, drifting over her neck, her shoulders, until his fingers spanned and covered the tops of her arms. When her eyes fluttered open, he was staring down at her curiously, his eyes running over her lips and her features as if he had never seen them before.