When Isaac all but laid her down against the cushions, she had to cling to him, fingertips digging into the fabric of his shirt. She opened her mouth to him, twining their tongues together in a French kiss, and matched his shiver with a shudder of her own. Very carefully she broke the kiss, pressing her mouth to his cheek where she could feel faint stubble. “God, Isaac,” she whispered. She swallowed hard, and went on, “that’s a French kiss, in case you didn’t know, and you can do that again anytime you want.”
Shivering again as he near hovered above her and she clutched at his shirt, Isaac hummed and parted his lips, allowing her to take control just for a moment. Cocking his head curiously to the side then, he groaned aloud in surprise as she tangled their tongues together, then pulling back to lick at his kiss-bruised lips. “I…I like French kissing, Summer…”
She kissed along his jawline, sliding open-mouthed kisses, until she reached his ear, nosing at the lobe. “Good to know.” Shifting back, she brushed her nose to his and smiled. “That’s an Eskimo kiss.”