My body—traitorousbody—arched into him, desperate to close every inch between us. I should have felt embarrassed by how badly I wanted him. But I didn’t.
John shook his head. “I may not be able to forgive myself if we do this.” His thumb skimmed along my jaw, his gaze following the motion.
“Why?”
I didn’t want to know. Not really. I just wanted to kiss him until I couldn’t remember the question. Until I had no air left to breathe.
But he shook his head again. Secrets clung to him—even now.
“I should go then.”
I was baiting him. Daring him to be reckless with me. Wanting him towant meenough to say to hell with it. But at the same time, I knew he was right.
It’s easier to douse a flame than to suffocate a wildfire.
And kissing him…might have been the worst mistake I’d ever made.
John’s lips parted. I braced myself. Any moment now, he’d tell me to leave.
Chapter Twenty-Five
He never stood a chance.
Once is enough.
Carpet burns are the least of my concerns.
He should have.
But.
Maybe it was the hour. Maybe it was the dark. That stretch of time between today and tomorrow, when thoughts go soft around the edges and reality tilts just enough to feel like fiction. As though tomorrow was too far away to worry about.
“If I were any stronger,” John murmured, “I’d kick your ass out of my house right now.”
And then—his hands were on my thighs, lifting me. Pinning me against the door.
A sharp gasp escaped me, but he swallowed it instantly with his mouth. His hips pressed me into the wood, his hands already working at the zipper of my leather jacket. It dropped with a heavy thud.
My fingers gripped his silken hair, then traced the defined muscles of his broad shoulders. His back. His spine. I couldn’t get enough of him. A slow, deliberate roll of his hips made me mumble incoherent words into his mouth.
He gripped my ass—rough, not cruel. Just perfect. Lifting me off the door like I weighed nothing.
Still kissing, still clinging, we crashed backward toward the sofa. The very same sofa where, not 24 hours ago, we’d been drinking beer and watching zombies rip out fake intestines.
How did that evening feel like an entirely different life, yet this moment the unavoidable continuation??
He dropped onto the cushions with me straddling him. The motion wasn’t entirely smooth—his laugh caught in my mouth as I adjusted my knees around him. My hands planted on either side of his face.
His arms cinched around my waist, dragging me closer until his arousal pressed perfectly against my center. I melted—fully, morphing into a willing puddle. His mouth was hot and wet, and when he pulled away to breathe, I followed him. Like the beckoning of the tide.
I tried to memorize everything:
The way his hand brushed my breast through my sweater.
The way he gripped my thighs like they were lifelines.
The way he tugged the sweater over my head and tossed it aside.
