Southern Comfort by Amie Louellen

Author:Amie Louellen [Louellen, Amie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Goodreads: 25793947
Publisher: Crimson Romance
Published: 2015-08-02T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Newland wished that every day he could wake up like this. Except for the headache. It was dull, throbbing behind his eyes though he had no idea where it came from. Maybe he been drinking the night before. Had he been drinking the night before?

He couldn’t remember. Or maybe he didn’t want to remember when his arms were full of sweet smelling … Natalie.

He inhaled that soft, familiar scent. Except the dry-cleaning fluid had been replaced with fabric softener. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, her soft sigh almost his undoing. How did they manage this?

Did he really care? She was in his arms, in his bed, and he really didn’t care how she got there. The main thing was she was there. And as long as he moved slowly, that dull throbbing kept to a minimum. Or maybe it was other sensations he was experiencing that trumped any pain from the night before.

He allowed one hand to run the length of her from her shoulder across her breasts, her flat stomach, to the curve of her hip, and then back up again. Yet, she was real. And irresistible. He planted little nipping kisses along her collarbone, up her neck, across her jaw. She sighed again and he was certain he’d never heard a sweeter sound. He’d been waiting for this for a long, long time. He just hadn’t known it. Or maybe he had been blind by other desires, false desires. This … This was the real thing.

He continued his exploring kisses, wanting to make up for their haste the night before. Their lovemaking had been urgent, frantic, borderline crazy with intensity. But this was different. He wanted to take his time. He had her in his bed, all warmth and satin pajamas. He didn’t take time to think about anything except for right here, right now, and how good she felt. She turned toward him with a sigh, her lips meeting his. He opened his eyes just a peek to see that hers were still closed, and he wondered if she was more asleep than awake.

“Newland,” she whispered when he lifted away from her. At least she knew who he was, and she wasn’t dreaming he was Brad Pitt or something.

He pushed one hand under the thin sleep t-shirt she wore, brushing his fingers against the underside of her breasts. “I want you,” he whispered. He planted teasing kisses all around her parted lips. She smiled in expectation but her eyes were still closed.

“Yes,” she said.

He wasn’t sure if she was agreeing with the fact that he wanted her or that she was saying she wanted him in return. But until she cried foul, he was plunging ahead.

He slid his hand to the crest of one breast, the nipple pebbling at his touch. He might not have taken his time yesterday, but this morning was all about going slow. What was it the Southerners said? Slower than molasses in January? Yeah, that slow, savoring each taste, each sigh, each texture until they both died from the pleasure of it all.

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