Asking for Trouble - Leslie Kelly [61]
Her mouth was sweet and welcoming. She held nothing back, being as loving as she’d been before he’d told her the whole truth about himself.
Well, almost the whole truth. He hadn’t told her about the strange things he’d experienced here at Seaton House. Bad enough the woman found out he’d killed someone—he didn’t want her thinking he was a nutcase, too.
“I want you, Simon,” she murmured against his lips. “I want you so much.”
Almost groaning in pure relief, he dropped his hands to her waist and tugged her over onto his lap. She curled into him, tilting her head to kiss him again, deeply and passionately.
The warmth of her mouth and the softness of her body pressing against his soon had him forgetting everything else but her. Them. What they’d made each other feel last night. What he wanted to feel again, now.
Slowly lifting her mouth from his and smiling at him, Lottie slid off his lap and walked toward the fireplace. He’d started a fire in it while she was gone, both for added warmth for himself, and because he really liked the way she looked getting warm in front of it.
She wasn’t getting warm now, though. She was getting hot.
Not saying a word, she tugged her red sweater free from her jeans, and slowly lifted it. Seeing the lacy red bra beneath, Simon had to suck in a quick, appreciative breath.
Disentangling her hair from the sweater, she finally tossed the thing away, then ran her hands through those thick, long brown curls, shaking her head hard so they tumbled riotously over her upper body.
She didn’t seem to mind that he wasn’t getting up to join her. He stayed sprawled on the couch, watching with lazy appreciation as she kicked off her shoes, then unsnapped her jeans. Rolling them down slowly—slowly enough that he knew she was intentionally heightening his anticipation—she finally pushed them all the way off. Her tiny red panties matched the bra. They were minuscule, just a red thatch of material barely covering her dark curls, and a few loops of satin cruising over her hips.
“Turn around,” he ordered, wanting to see more.
She did. He groaned, low and long, at the gorgeous ass revealed by the thong panties. Hearing him, she looked over her shoulder and said, “Are you going to stay over there watching, or are you going to join me?”
Shifting in his tight jeans, he smiled lazily. “Depends on what you’re going to do next.”
“What do you want me to do next?”
Oh, just about everything. He started with the most basic. “Touch yourself.”
She turned to face him, her lips curling up at the corners. Bringing one hand to her throat, she trailed the tips of her fingers down, skirting lightly over the curves of her breasts that pushed high above the seam of the bra, down to her belly.
When her fingers disappeared beneath the elastic hem of her panties and streaked through her curls, he heard her emit a little gasp of pleasure.
Her eyes closed. Licking her lips, she dropped her head back as she continued to delicately stroke herself, her hand hidden by the red fabric but her actions entirely clear just the same.
When she moved, he hoped she was going to kick off the panties and show him exactly how she liked to be touched. But instead she reached around and unfastened her bra, letting it slowly slide down her arms to the floor.
Now Simon groaned. Her breasts had been gorgeous, glistening and wet in the low light last night. Now, in the brightly lit room, he felt certain he’d never seen a more beautifully shaped woman. He already knew how much she liked having her nipples sucked and the way she began to rub her palms over them, then tweak them, told him even more.
“Lose the panties,” he said, unable to stand much more of this but wanting to stay here—a few feet away—to appreciate her