Page 66 of Billionaire's Coastal Haven

“Okay.” My fingers slide through his silky hair, and I angle his face to mine, lifting a delicate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Okay.”

His arm bands around my waist and secures me to his chest as our mouths reacquaint with each other.

Landon is an amazing kisser. His lips are pillowy soft, and he knows how to shift the intensity of our kiss to increase my pleasure. He’s not sloppy or uncontrolled as he worships my mouth. Why did I talk myself out of kissing him sooner?

He guides me to straddle his lap on the sofa. The heat from his chest pours into my body, and I wrap my arm around his neck as his tongue asks permission to stroke mine.

I let him in, fighting the urge to lose myself in the sensations. I can’t lose control. I need to be present so my heart doesn’t get confused by what this is.

Kissing, enjoying, worshiping each other. Landon said he can’t walk away, but that doesn’t mean he won’t. That his life won’t yank him back.

Landon’s hands run up and down my spine, like he wants to touch me everywhere at once.

It’s not enough. His hands on my back and on my hips aren’t enough. The power I feel kissing him isn’t enough.

I want more. I whimper deep in my throat. Can I ask for more? What will it mean? What do I want? What does he want?

“What’s wrong?” he asks against my lips.

“I don’t know.” I kiss him again, but the feeling of inadequacy burns deep in my belly.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No.”

“Is this too much?”

“It’s not enough.”

He stills under my hands. His lips leave mine, and he stares at where he’s holding my hips. “I…um…am I not…” He clears his throat. “I can do better.”

I smile at his lack of self-confidence. “You’re perfect. Your kisses are perfect. I just want more.”

His eyes burn with desire. “Take what you need.”

“But—”

He frames my face with his hands. “Take what you need.”

“I need you.” I tug the bottom of his shirt. “Is this okay?”

“It’s not too fast?”

“I’ve been fighting these feelings for weeks. No one sees me the way you do, and I like who I am when I’m with you.”

He grips the back of his shirt, slipping the material over his head, and tosses it behind me.

He’s beautiful. Every muscle defined and chiseled to perfection.

He slips his hand back into my hair and pulls me down for another passionate kiss. My fingers trace the cleft down his sternum, to the valleys and ridges of his abs, and tangle in the light dusting of hair below his belly button.

“Careful,” he whispers against my mouth.

“Or what?”

He bucks his hips against my core. “Or I might get the wrong idea.”

“Why is that the wrong idea? Seems pretty right to me.”