On a Roll by Melanie Greene

Author:Melanie Greene
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781941967218
Publisher: Melanie Greene

Chapter Eighteen

Fucking heaven and all the spirits lining the way there.

Victor Anthony first among them, because only a spirit of some sort could hypnotize her with his sunshine-bright, earth-deep eyes and lift her into some sort of transcendence just by placing his body at her disposal. And that’s what he was doing, laying there like he wasn’t a vibrating cock attached to a neat slab of lusting torso.

Looking at her like he wanted her. Like he trusted her.

Like he cared.

She broke into twelve thousand pieces and let each one of them pelt down like hail upon him, spread thirsting across her bed. Taking it all. Every kiss, every touch. Every scrape and slide of skin to skin. Even when he sucked at her clavicle, nuzzled his way to her nipple, used those strong sure fingers of his to part her folds and trace her every intimate contour, he was taking her lead.

And damn it all, she loved it.

She loved how he paid attention to her every hitch and sigh. How he checked in with her but also told her everything she did to him filled him with more lust. How he fucking kissed.

Gillian adored kissing, with the right partner. The warmth and tension of it. The playing back and forth of pressure, breath, touch, taste. Lips soft or firm or lush or rough. Gentle tongues, teasing tongues, devouring tongues. It all sent her vibrating. Lifted her awareness of her partner to new levels. Turned her the hell on.

So she knew, racing Vic to her bedroom, she was in for hotness. Not based on those college kisses; those weren’t anything she’d held to for years. But every day since New Year’s Eve, she knew his kiss spun her in circles. And giving him free reign to kiss as they rolled in her bed? Dizzy. He made her dizzy. His touch, his taste, were everywhere. He nipped her neck and nuzzled her ear and navigated from brow to chin with light brushes of his sensual mouth. His moan resonated within her when their tongues tangled and his hands arced circles over her breasts. His smile burned past their interlocked lips as she spread her thighs wide to his questing fingers. His breath stole hers. Wrapped her air up to bundle it away along with her caution and her worries and her fluttering heart.

And that wasn’t even taking into account his body. Shoulders and arms that begged her palms to stroke them. The birthmark just at the base of his ribcage—that, she remembered. Not just because she’d seen it at pool parties and such over the years, but because she’d traced it with her tongue that time in college. He’d laughed because he was ticklish, and he’d forgotten he even had the mark, and he’d thought she was heading lower with her tongue when she took the detour to that reddish squiggle a couple of inches above his faint appendectomy scar.

She had been heading lower, to a destination she’d never imagined at any of those pool parties when they were young.

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