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Wrong, wrong, wrong.
But I don’t pull back. I don’t shove him away.
In fact, I move closer. Closer than I ever should be, my hands trailing from his face to his hair and fisting gently. He groans again as he deepens the kiss, sweeping his tongue over mine, over and over until I’m mewling and gasping and grinding myself against him.
Brant pulls back, breathless. His eyes are dark and stormy, brimming with lust and confusion. He doesn’t let me go. He holds me tight, squeezing me as he says, “Why did you do that…” It’s not even a question. He says it like a breathy growl of defeat, as if he just lost something he’d been fighting desperately for.
My lips feel puffy and swollen. Tingly.
I stare up at him.
I don’t know what to say.
But I couldn’t speak if I wanted to because his mouth crushes mine again in another bruising kiss. A moan pours out of me. A terrible, wicked sound that I wish I could take back. This is madness. Sinister madness that has me drunk and light-headed, scared out of my mind.
He nicks my lip with his teeth, then plunges his tongue into my mouth, both of his hands rising to cradle my face. He cherishes me as he ruins me. His fingertips burrow into my cheeks while we kiss each other desperately, faces angling to taste deeper, harder, my hands still pulling at his hair, nails digging into his scalp. Pants, moans, growls. His erection presses into me. My whole body hums and burns as I suck his tongue into my mouth and feel him tremble.
I’m wet.
My panties are soaked through, I can tell.
My God, what are we doing? What the hell are we doing?
Alarms begin to drown out the coil of hunger spiraling low in my belly.
Warning signs sweep across my mind, stealing my attention.
This is Brant.
This. Is. Brant.
Panic seizes me, and I find the strength to pull back, my startled cry hitting the air when our mouths part and I shove him away from me. Brant’s chest is heaving, his eyes glazed and wild. Hair a mess. Skin flushed, lips kissed raw.
Oh my God.
I think I hear something in the distance, a plethora of footfalls, but I don’t wait around.
I bolt.
With tears rushing to my eyes, I bust through the double doors, nearly plowing over Celeste and Genevieve who were watching from the other side. I don’t stop to drink in their horrified expressions or see whose footsteps those were.
I just run. Fast and furious, all the way out the main entrance and into the parking lot where I can finally stop to catch my breath.
I don’t look back.
21
FIRST RESPONDER
THEO, AGE 25
“You’re such a sucker, Bailey.”
I smirk as our cruiser rolls to a stop at the back of the country club, where a small group of dolled-up teenagers are sucking on cigarettes. “We’ll just do a quick sweep and make sure these kids are being law-abiding citizens. Can’t have any underage drinking or wild orgies commencing, eh?”
“Because you were such a saint at eighteen.”
Kip throws me a knowing grin and kills the engine. I shrug, fondly recalling my own senior prom. Monica blew me in a utility closet.
