She kissed him. His lips were cold. That wasn’t right. She needed to warm them up, so she set to work on that, moving her own against his, softly at first, because it was like kissing a rock. He was still stunned. Unmoving. But just when she was starting to think she had made an error, that she was going to have to retreat and fall back on the sleep-groping excuse, he came to life. His arms banded around her, and he sucked in a gasping breath, like he’d been drowning and she was his life raft.

He opened his mouth, and she sighed into it. Her head, suddenly heavy, started to loll back, but then one of his hands was there, on the back of her head, the pads of his fingers scraping against her scalp as he anchored her—and feasted. There was no other word for it. He fused their mouths together, and their tongues tangled. Slid back and forth across each other, probed deeply. He emitted some kind of humming, growling sound as he tilted her head back and opened her mouth wider. It felt like he wanted to climb inside her. God. She had never been kissed like this, not by anyone, not even teenage Sawyer. It was so…dirty. So perfectly, wonderfully, astonishingly dirty.

It was also not enough.

She had taken her bra off earlier, along with the rest of her wet clothing, and her breasts felt heavy, swollen. They ached. He was already holding her tightly against him, but she was still holding on to fistfuls of his shirt, so her forearms were preventing their torsos from touching. And wasn’t that a lost opportunity? She started trying to wiggle her arms free, so she could mash her breasts against him and maybe get some relief from all this sensation.

But he must have thought she wanted out, because he let go of her immediately. The losses hit her all at once: the loss of his arms around her body, his hand on the back of her head, his mouth on hers. It was all just…gone. Something came out of her mouth that sounded an awful lot like a wail. She should have been embarrassed, but all she could focus on was getting her throbbing breasts some relief, so she pushed him down on the couch and climbed on top of him.

He grunted as she landed on him—she had hurled herself pretty hard. She sighed when her chest finally made contact with his, but it was only partly in relief. Because although she’d gotten what she wanted, it was not enough. She grumbled in frustration as she squirmed on his chest, thinking some friction might help.

He sucked in a breath. “Explain to me what’s happening here.”

“I’m jumping you.” In case that wasn’t clear.