Run

Chapter Seven

Ready for more smexy? Because there's a lot of it in this chapter *insert evil grin here*

It didn't start in the bedroom.

He didn't take my hand and lead me down the hall, into a room laden with shadows and memories of that first time.

It started there. In the kitchen. With his hands pressing me to him, his lips drifting over my cheek, finding mine. Taking them.

Quiet, quiet kisses, slow and tentative, like I was still standing at the bottom of the steps, wondering if I should walk up and knock on the door or turn around and go home. He could use those lips to steal my secrets, pull them from me. In a way, he'd already begun. That kind offer of a burger, a hard body to lean on when the whiskey tipped me over, loosened my tongue enough to pass on something I would have otherwise kept hidden.

Opening my mouth under his was the most natural thing in the world. The way they fit together, adjusting and anticipating, his tongue drawing mine into an ageless battle. Not giving up his dominance, just passing it on for a time. Giving me the upper hand, taking it away, all the while bringing on such a keen need for more that I didn't realize I was whimpering and my fingers were digging into his shoulders until I tried to wrap my legs around him and couldn't, because we were standing in the middle of the kitchen.

He drew back, enough his breath ghosted over my lips. "Well? Any plans?"

My lungs stopped working. I shook my head.

His mouth claimed mine, claimed it, the force of it all the more potent for the straightforward way he did it. It wasn't fast, it wasn't brutal. It built, brick mortar brick, solid and heavy, something made to last. I'd had primal, vicious lust before. I'd had sweetness. I'd had giggles and sighs.

I'd never had this before.

His tongue moved, curling, gliding, taking the kiss to that fine edge of lusty sloppiness and balancing there. I didn't know what to do with my hands. I wanted his skin under me. I wanted to feel it heat, degree by degree. But they curled into his shirt instead. Handfuls of soft, worn cotton, threatening to tear at the slightest provocation.

A brush of a finger on the skin of my lower back, bared where my tank rode up. I shivered. He did it again. A third pass. On the fourth, his hand snuck up under the fabric, fingers flexing as I sucked on his tongue.

Now he broke the kiss. Now he led me down the hall, walking backward, his eyes never leaving my face, his hands roaming between my waist and my hips and my ass. The dying light of day didn't stretch into the room, blocked by the blinds. The last time I was here, we'd left the light off. Found each other by groping around, following dips and bends and moans.

Trevor let go long enough to turn on the lamp sitting on his bedside table. "I remember something about a tattoo on your back." He grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head. My hands itched to touch him. Trace the lines of his abs, pinch his nipples between my fingers, find the soft spots that collected the scent of him and hoarded it.

He caught my hands before they connected with his chest. "Show me," he whispered.

I tried not to shake as I grasped the hem of my tank and drew it up and off, twisting my arms behind my back and flicking open the hooks of my bra. A few steps skipped in the seduction chain. His mouth hadn't explored my neck. My ears, my jaw, I hadn't felt the rasp of his stubble under my lips. More than a few. A canyon, almost, of missed steps and pieces of information. Trevor moved with the surety of someone who knew me better than myself, who would coax the fears and secrets from me little by little. It scared the shit out of me.