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Connor’s eyes widen. “Wait?—”
“Three.”
“Dana, stop.”
“Two.”
“You shouldn’t run that far?—”
“One — Go!”
I take off at a sprint. Connor’s fingers graze my hand as I go, his reflexes not quick enough to stop me in time. Perhaps he assumed I was bluffing, but I wasn’t. I run. A steady jog, to be fair, but I run.
Connor catches up to me without even trying. He doesn’t overtake me. He matches my stride, ready to catch me if I fall, but I won’t.
I won’t fall.
With needles in my lungs and a pounding heart, I push forward. Each breath is tight and shallow, but I don’t stop. And I don’t slow down.
I am not breakable.
The last few yards hurt the most, but I force myself to finish the race. After what feels like an eternity, I break through the other end zone and fall to my knees, my breaths coming at a wicked, uneven clip.
“Dana!” Connor, hardly winded at all, drops in front of me and grips my shoulders. “Are you okay? Dana, look at me!”
My laughter builds from deep within. My insides scream. My legs are jelly. My eyes sting with tears. But I did it. I fucking did it.
“See?” I say between breaths. “Not broken.”
Connor shakes his head, his mouth opening with a wide smile. “No, you’re not,” he says.
I tumble onto my back; the turf digging into me as I laugh at the night sky. It’s not until my pulse stops pounding in my ears that I realize I pulled Connor down with me. He rests on his side, one hand touching mine on my stomach. As I move my hand, my fingers caress his by accident, but they linger in place very much on purpose. They slowly entwine in the dark and Connor bows his head, his lips coming so close to mine.
“Lesson one,” he says. “Don’t kiss and tell.”
He kisses me, making my heart pound in my chest all over again.
CHAPTER 22
DANA
I’m not sure how long we’ve been in the backseat of my car. Long enough for the windows to fog over, that’s for sure.
Every touch is a stroke of heat, Connor’s more experienced hands guiding mine to places on his body they’ve never gone before. His face. His chest. I can hardly focus long enough to count his abs between bouts of long, deep kisses.
Tilting away so I can breathe, Connor kisses my neck. I shudder against him, our bodies fully clothed but so very close, with legs comfortably entwined. I incline back, his hands grazing my breast as his tongue marks a wet line on my throat.
I laugh, ticklish.
“Are you okay?” Connor whispers in my ear, his voice soft yet strained. He clearly wants more — oh-so-much more — but he’s holding back.
“Yes,” I say, nodding before pulling his face back to mine. It’s bold to demand a kiss, but I’ve already taken so many tonight. And Connor doesn’t seem interested in denying me.
He moves his hand down, placing it softly on the inner thigh of my jeans. My skin burns beneath, craving an even closer connection. I shift my body, flowing myself against his. Breaking our kiss, I gasp with throbbing pleasure, but it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough.
I freeze, unsure of how to push further.
Luckily, I have an excellent teacher.
