Valentine's Day Post 8

Turning to face me, he moves his head down so we’re almost touching. “I still say you get closer to me during horror movies.”

My lips twitch at the challenge in his voice, and I lean forward, pressing my forehead to his. “I still say I hate horror movies, and making me watch something I hate is mean.”

“That’s me, the big meanie pants,” he says, his voice low.

I nod, moving my mouth closer to his. In a breath, his lips are on mine. I lift my hands, one going to his neck and tangling in his hair, the other reaching under his arm to his strong back. Our mouths move together, and his hands tighten on my shoulders.

He feels so good I lose all sense of time. My hand flexes on his back, gripping the muscles moving under it. He moans, and moves me, flipping my legs over his and laying me back onto the couch.

The angle changes the kiss, makes it deeper, more urgent. It’s my turn to moan as he leans over me, one arm holding his weight off me. The other hand caresses my face, then slides down my body, stopping at my waist.

My breath hitches as his hand caresses the skin at the edge of my jeans. He slowly raises his hand under my shirt, making small circles on my stomach, then my ribcage. The anticipation makes my heart pound. He finally reaches my chest, softly grasping me.

We moan together, and then we’re both just hands, and lips, and bodies. Brian breathes my name, and my stomach clenches. I run my hands under his shirt, wanting to touch all of him.

A door slams.

“Bree? I’m home!”

Mom. Shit.