Free Hitched (Imperfect Love Book 1) by Kendall Ryan Page B

and stare at the wall until he falls asleep, then I chide myself for being ridiculous. We’re not innocent children, but we’re also not teenagers, blushing and giggling at the barest mention of sex. We’re two mature, liberated adults who have very sensibly decided to . . .
    Another giddy wave, this one distinctly warmer. I force myself to stop being a nervous wreck and roll over.
    Noah has propped himself up on his elbow. His slight smile drops as he searches my face. “Hey, are you okay?”
    Are my jitters that obvious?
    “Uh, y-yeah, I’m fine,” I reply. Maybe that’s not totally true, but it’s not a lie, either. I really do want to try this. Which means I need to take the plunge now. “Let’s go.”
    Noah nods and scoots closer. He reaches out to stroke my hair out of my face, and I relax a fraction into his light, almost tickling touch.
    “Still with me?” he asks.
    I nod.
    “Because we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
    “I know that.”
    His touches are more gentle than I expected. His fingertips are so light on my cheek, my neck, tucking my hair behind my ear. It’s . . . nice.
    Then, at last, he shifts his weight and leans in.
    That first brush is so soft, I can barely feel it. It’s more like the pause before a kiss than the kiss itself. But it still kicks my heart rate into overdrive.
    “Was that all right?” he murmurs, his warm and minty breath fanning over my mouth.
    I tilt up my chin and answer his question with a chaste peck.
    He brushes against my lips with a chuckle. Sliding one arm under my head as a pillow, he lies down facing me, draping his other arm around my shoulder and upper back. He keeps his hands high and his lower body at least an inch from mine. A gentleman . . . for now, anyway.
    His mouth starts moving gently. No tongue, no teeth, not even very much pressure—just feeling the give and take of our lips against each other. My nervousness slowly drains away to be replaced with a different, much more pleasant kind of buzzing energy.
    It’s obvious what he’s doing. He’s trying to take things slow and make sure I’m comfortable. I’m relieved at his careful consideration . . . but I’m also slightly embarrassed that it was necessary in the first place. Time to up the ante a little.
    I reach my arm around his waist, feeling how firm his muscles are, and open my mouth to him. With a low, quiet noise of approval, he immediately responds to my invitation. The tip of his tongue flicks over my lips. I return the move, determined to match his boldness, then let out a small gasp when he slides his tongue over mine. It’s almost like I can feel that deft touch much lower. My panties are growing damp, and these stupid fleece pajamas are suddenly suffocating. His lips are so full, so soft, and his mouth moves expertly over mine.
    Unbidden, my body pulls itself closer . . . His skillful kisses are way better than I even remember.
    And then I feel it. His half-hard length rubs against my thigh.
    The thought of Noah—who starred in my every lurid teenage fantasy without my permission—hard and ready for me, now, here, in the very appealing flesh, is almost too much. A rush of heat pulses low in my belly, and I’m right on the verge of rocking my hips into him when reality strikes.
    What the hell am I doing?
    This is Noah Tate, who’s slept with half of Manhattan, who’s probably just doing this to win our bet and add another notch to his bedpost.
    I freeze at the thought, and he pulls away.
    “What’s wrong?” he asks in confusion.
    “I think it’s time to stop for now,” I manage to say without stumbling over my words.
    His brow furrows in distinct annoyance. “Really?”
    “Yes, really. Good night.” I untangle myself from his embrace and roll over. “But thank you. That was fun.”
    “Just fun?” His tone is incredulous. “Sheesh. Leave a twenty on my nightstand while you’re at it.”
    “Are you telling me you’re familiar with