His eyes go hot, focused on my lips. “I think about your mouth all the time. Those teasing little freckles, the soft curve of your upper lip, the stubborn fullness of your bottom lip.” He husks out a laugh. “Stella Button, it’s downright embarrassing how much I think about kissing you.”

“But you won’t.” I don’t even know how I’m talking right now. Inside, I’m a damn puddle of heat and hazy want.

“No.”

I feel that “no” like a kick in my chest. I should drop it and save myself further humiliation. But I can’t. “Why?”

His hand shakes as he runs it through his hair. “Sex confuses things. Especially for me. I don’t know what to do once it’s over. It could break us, Stella. And I can’t afford to lose you.”

Jesus, the things he says to me. How can he possibly think he’d lose me?

“Or it can be the beginning of us,” I counter, heart in my throat—in my hands, because I might has well have set it right in his lap.

His expressive mouth quirks, fighting a smile, but he looks tired and resigned. “I won’t fall in love with you, Stells.”

That hurts, but it’s not like I didn’t expect it. I’m not sure I even want love. Love equals loss in my world. I don’t want to hurt anymore. But I do want John. That much I’m finally willing to admit. Because denying it hurts too. “Who said anything about falling in love?”

His smile is faint. “Well, that’s a relief.”

Oddly, he sounds almost disappointed. Beneath lowered lids, he watches me walk toward him. With each step closer, my heart beats harder and faster. The couch creaks a little as I put my knee on it. I straddle John, moving with a liquid languor like I’m flowing through water.

His big hands settle on my hips, and his grip is firm when he pulls me closer until the notch of my sex presses against the growing bulge in his pants. We both suck in a breath.

Light-headed and awash with heat, I lean into him, the tips of my breasts brushing his bare chest. My hand cups his neck, and the rapid beat of his pulse plays against my fingertips. Still, he watches me, silent and unmoving, his muscles tense.

“John?” I whisper, our lips close enough that his soft breath tickles mine.

His voice is just as soft when he answers. “Yeah, babe?”

“May I kiss you?”

A tremor goes through him, and he swallows hard. “You’re asking me?” The disbelief in his voice is faint but there all the same. His grip on my hips tightens and tugs.

I adjust my seat, my sex pressing more firmly into his swelling cock. “Anyone ever ask you before?”

Up close, his eyes are pure green, his lashes thick and soft; he’s almost too beautiful to look at. He blinks, those lashes sweeping. “No. Can’t say it’s ever mattered before.”

Before.

It matters now. Because he’s been sitting here believing he’s tarnished, thinking I didn’t want him.

My fingers trace the strong column of his throat. “Thing is, I think about kissing you too. Ever since I stole that first one, I’ve wanted more.” John’s hand slides up my back as I talk, his fingers tangling into the damp heat of my hair. I shiver with pleasure, my confession coming out in a breathless rush. “Whenever I open my mouth to talk to you, I’m afraid I’ll beg for another kiss, just a little taste of you—”

“Stella?” he cuts in, his gaze hot on mine.

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

So I do. And it’s so good that my entire body sighs with relief before melting with heat and need. His mouth opens to mine like he’s been waiting an eternity to feel me, taste me. I’m wrapped around him, as close as I can get, our tongues gliding, our lips slow dancing.

John grunts, low and impatient, his grip in my hair tightening. He tilts his head, trying to get more of me. And I feel it everywhere, as though my body is attached to strings that draw up tight, clenching every muscle with desire. We kiss like that until we can’t breathe, then draw away panting, only to come back to each other again. And again. Deep, luscious kisses that only last a few seconds before we try another and another.

John catches my lower lip and suckles. “Oh, fuck, you feel ... I’ve needed you …” He kisses me with soft greed, his hand moving over my body like he’s memorizing every dip and curve. “I’ve needed you, Stells. Needed this. Just this.”

I’ve needed it too. I didn’t realize how much until I’d touched him.

His lips skim over my neck, scattering shivers along my skin. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

He does too, his hair cool and silky in my hands, his jaw rough with stubble that tickles my lips. And the whole time, he’s rocking against me, working his hips in a slow, beckoning motion that makes me slightly frantic with lust.

Our mouths come together and it’s explosive this time, our control slipping. I cup the hard caps of his shoulders, my fingers gripping and caressing. His hands slip beneath my shirt, smoothing the sides of my waist.

“I want to see you,” he says against my mouth. “Can I take this off? Can I see you, sweet Stella?”

Heat rolls over me waves. “Yes. Yes.”

Our fingers tangle, mine trembling with impatience, as we pull the damn, suffocating shirt off together. It doesn’t cool me down. I burn hotter as John’s gaze moves over my torso, his expression rapt. “So pretty, Button.”

I’m wearing a simple white bra, but under his stare, I feel as beautiful and delicate as spun sugar. His wide hands slide up my ribs, and I arch my back, thrusting my breasts out. He sits up, arms wrapping around me, and presses a tender kiss to the swell of my breasts. “Every night, I’ve dreamed of this. Of you.”

His skin is hot and damp under my palms, and I run them over every inch I can.

The blunt tips of his fingers trace the clasp of my bra. “This too?” he asks.

“Yes. Please, John.” My breasts are swollen, my nipples tender and achy. I need his touch. “Please.”

“Anything,” he says. “Anything you need.”

The bra slips away. He makes a sound deep in his throat. “Oh, hell. Freckles. You’re killing me.” He goes about kissing each one, his tongue touching them like they’re candy. When he finally gently laps my nipple, I groan, tilting my head back.

His hot mouth closes over me and pulls with rhythmic tugs. The tip of his tongue flicks the swollen tip, and it’s too much and not enough, and I curl myself over him, my arms around his neck, my breast at his mouth. I’m riding his cock, dry humping him as though we’re horny teens in a backseat.

John releases my nipple with a wet pop. I shudder, wanting him to return.

“Touch me,” he says, moving his lips along my skin, seeking out my other breast. “Please. Touch me.”

His belly is tight and smooth. I follow the ridge down the center of his abs. He grunts, his mouth full of me. I fumble with the button of his jeans, and then he’s in my hand, hot and hard and substantial. I stroke that silken heat, my thumb running over the weeping crown, and he shudders.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck. More, Stella. Give me more.”

His mouth finds mine. There’s no more talk, just soft whispers of want and approval, needy whimpers, and groans for more. Our kisses are a mess, frantic, wet, deep. Exchanges of breath. Shaking exhales. I’m jacking his cock as he tweaks my nipples, and it’s so hot and good. I’m going to come and he hasn’t even touched my clit.