“You okay?” His voice was rougher than before, strained, like the words were being forced out of him under the threat of torture.
“I’m—” I started, but my brain had apparently vacated the premises because all I could focus on was the way his thumbs were pressing into my hips, the way his breath was warm against my face, the way he was looking at me like I was something he wanted. Period.
Say something witty. Say something sassy. Say literally anything that isn’t a weird squeaking sound.
“I’m fine,” I finally managed. “Just testing your reflexes. You pass.” I patted his shoulders awkwardly before dropping my hands to my sides.
His eyes dropped to my mouth, and I watched his jaw clench and watched something dark and desperate flicker across his face.
“Fuck it,” he growled.
And then his mouth was on mine.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It wasn’t a sweet, tentative first kiss or a testing-the-waters kiss. This was possession. This was hunger. Pure, unadulterated, male hunger.
For me.
His lips were firm and demanding, claiming mine with a confidence that made my knees forget how to work. One hand slid up my back to tangle in my hair, tilting my head back so he could kiss me deeper, harder, while the other hand dug into my soft flesh, pulling me flush against him until there was no space left between us.
I could feel his body. His hard. Excited body.
And my body answered him.
I gasped against his mouth, and he took advantage immediately, his tongue sweeping in to taste me. And oh my God, the man couldkiss. This wasn’t like anything I’d experienced before—not the one or two fumbling make-outs in high school, not the disappointing dates in college. This was... this was everything.
The dark stubble on his jaw scraped against my skin, rough and perfect, sending sparks of sensation racing down my spine. Heat pooled low in my belly, spreading through my limbs like molten honey. My nipples tightened against the fabric of my bra, suddenly painfully sensitive, and I felt a rush of warmth between my thighs. I was grateful that I was pressed against his truck because my legs had officially given up.
Holy sex goddess, this man tasted like heaven, and I wanted more.
I kissed him back just as desperately as he was kissing me. My hands fisted in his shirt again, trying to get closer even though we were already plastered together. His groan vibrated through his chest and into mine, and the sound of it—rough and hungry and barely controlled—made everything inside me clench.
He kissed me like he’d been denying himself for so long that now that he’d given in, he couldn’t stop. His hand in my hair tightened, not painful but possessive, holding me exactly where he wanted me while his mouth devoured mine.
I’d read about kisses like this. Answered surveys in magazines about what a good kiss would be like. I’d daydreamed about them during long shifts and lonely nights. But imagination had nothing—nothing—on the reality of Tucker Barrett kissing me like I was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
My hands slid up his chest to his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle there, the strength barely leashed. His body was hard everywhere mine was soft, and the contrast made me dizzy. Or maybe that was the lack of oxygen. Hard to tell when your brain had melted and relocated somewhere south of your waistband.
When he finally pulled back—not far, just enough to breathe—we were both panting. His mouth was wet and swollen and his hands were still on me like he couldn’t quite let go. His eyes were wild, looking at me like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.
“Fuck,” he breathed, and I’d never heard a single word carry so much weight.
“Yeah,” I agreed, because my vocabulary had apparently shrunk to monosyllables. My lips felt swollen. My body felt like it was vibrating. And my underwear was definitely ruined, which was information my brain decided to share at the least helpful moment possible.
Great. Add buy new panties to tomorrow’s to-do list. Right after I figured out how to function like a normal human after being kissed into another dimension.
He pulled back a little more, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle ticking. His hand stayed on my hip.
“Emily, I—” His voice was wrecked. Absolutely wrecked. And knowing I’d done that to him sent another wave of heat through me.
“Don’t,” I interrupted, my voice shakier than I would’ve liked. “Don’t you dare apologize.”
His eyes met mine, dark and conflicted and hungry. “That was—”
“Inevitable,” I finished. “Amazing. Possibly the best kiss of my entire life. Take your pick.”
That earned me a rough sound that might have been a laugh.
I smoothed my hands down his chest, feeling his sharp intake of breath, the way his heart was still racing. “For the record, you taste like coffee and something I’ll probably regret. And I’m absolutely going to want to do that again.”
