Just for fun, I’ve got another “mystery snog” for you today. Tell me which of my books it comes from, and you could win a copy of that book. (I’ll draw one winner from among all the correct answers.)
I’ve learned my lesson and stripped out any character names that might make this too easy!
You’ll find a list of my books here:
And an index by category here:
When you’re done here, head over to Victoria’s for more Sunday kisses.
We don’t speak. He leads me to a bench where we can fully appreciate the view. His arm is around my shoulder, his fingers warm on my bare arm. I welcome his touch. For a moment, I just let go, close my eyes and lean my head against his chest. His aftershave mingles with his natural odor, a luscious masculine scent that I find amazingly comforting. Yes. This is what I need.
I am not surprised to find his lips on mine, firm but undemanding. Again, this feels natural and right. I sink into his kiss, opening myself to his tentative tongue, tasting the beer he had with dinner. “Oh, god,” he murmurs, his hands wandering over my body.
My nipples spring to attention as he brushes them with his fingers. My sex swells and dampens when he lays his palm across the curve of my belly. He has not stopped kissing me. Our tongues dance like familiar partners. With each twirl, I grow more aroused.
I realize that he is unfastening my dress, one slow button at a time. Part of me wants him to rip it off, to take me without any warm-up, but I also appreciate his measured, gradual approach. He’s afraid I’ll stop him, I realize. Suddenly I feel that I must reassure him.
“Just a moment,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. I stand and face him, continuing the work he began on my buttons. One hand unfastens them from neckline to waist, the other from waist to hem. He’s transfixed, watching me. I see the fabric between his legs stir as he grows more excited.