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He snaps the lock shut, spins the dial. My heart pounds.
“What else?” he asks, his voice low, teasing, as he closes the distance between us. “Come on, Thalia, one more.”
I feel like the sea monster, as if my skin is rippling with light, as if I’m unfurling at the slightest breeze.
“You’re a good kisser,” I murmur.
With that, he pushes me against the shed door and proves me right.
This time he’s rougher. Less restrained. He works his fingers through my hair, his other hand planted on the wall next to my head, and I open my mouth under his, the kiss already deep.
I have two fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him toward me, and he lets me do it. He growls and kisses me harder and his fingers leave my hair, brush down my neck. His hand finds my hip, pins it against the wall, the wood digging into my back.
There’s another noise. A tiny groan, a gasp, and after a moment I realize that it’s me, and Caleb chuckles.
“Shh,” he teases. “There’s kids out there.”
“This is still PG-13,” I murmur back. “Perfectly tasteful.”
He kisses me again. Deep, hard, and as he pulls away I catch his bottom lip in my teeth.
“What’s it take to get an R rating?” he asks, his lips already on mine again.
“Lots of bloodshed or one nipple,” I answer into his mouth.
He kisses me slowly, thoroughly. He shifts his hips and now they’re pressed against mine, pinning me to the wall behind me.
“Just one?” he asks, and now his hand is at my shoulder, fingers toying with the thin fabric of my tank top strap.
“I didn’t make the rules,” I tease.
Our hips shift again, still pressing me against the wall, and the words please God just tear this tank top right off of my body are on the tip of my tongue but I kiss him again to stop myself.
He pushes himself against me, harder, and I push back, drinking in the beautiful heat of his body, even as I wriggle a little bit because he’s got something in his pocket that’s pressing into me, and I swear it feels like a TV remote or something —
My eyes pop open in realization mid-kiss. Luckily, his stay shut.
Dick.
That’s his dick.
I freeze, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. It’s not the first time this has happened — I’m an accidental virgin, not a nun — but I didn’t handle the other instances with grace, either.
Is there boner etiquette when you’re frantically making out with an incredibly hot man behind a building at an art show? Should I pretend I don’t notice? Grab it?
Grab it and say, hey, big boy, is that a cucumber in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?
Okay, clearly not that last one.
Suddenly he pulls back, our faces an inch apart. He swallows hard, panting for breath, his fingers still tangled in the strap of my tank top.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
“Fine,” I whisper back. “Very fine.”
I close my eyes again, kiss him harder, and don’t grab it. Another sigh escapes me as he shifts again, pressing me harder against the wall, and I can’t help but roll my hips, my fingers grabbing his belt loop without my brain’s permission.
My body’s pretty clear on what it wants. It’s my mind that’s wondering what’s polite in this circumstance.
“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” he says, his lips barely leaving mine.
“No one’s watching,” I murmur.
His hand skims down my hip to the outside of my thigh, warm through the fabric of my skirt. My heart skips another beat.
“But are they listening?” he asks, and I nip softly at his lower lip.
“What is there to hear?” I say.
My hips roll again, his erection like iron against my lower belly, and the sensation sends a shockwave through me: lust and surprise and excitement and nervousness, a little bit of trepidation and did I mention lust? That one for sure.
“Nothing yet,” he says, his fingers under the shoulder of my tank top, tracing my collarbone. “But the more we do this the more tempted I am to see what you sound like when you come.”
“Oh,” I squeak out, my spine going rigid and my eyes going wide.
Hello, full-body blush.
Hello, warmth flooding my entire body. Hello, getting so wet that it’s actually the tiniest bit uncomfortable.
Clearly, my body is fine with this turn of events, but I have absolutely no idea what to say to that. Literally none.
I just stare at Caleb for several long, long seconds, confused as hell and wildly turned on.
“Nothing,” I finally say. “I don’t sound like anything.”
He looks at me for another second, his beautiful green eyes studying my face like he’s memorizing me.
Then he smiles, looks down, pulls away a little more.
“I’m sorry,” he says, dimples deep. “Too much.”
“Kinda,” I admit. “I think you’re supposed to save that for the second date.”
