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They must already suspect that as is.
Delicate fingers digging violently into my forearm, Emma tows me down the street until we’re two houses over and hidden from her grandparents’ eyes by the neighbors’ lush landscaping. Then and only then, she releases my arm and steps back, glaring up at me with so much fury each curl on her head seems to be dancing a jig.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” she hisses, little fists balled at her sides. “I told you it was over—”
“And I refused to accept it,” I inform her grimly—though what I really want is to grab her and kiss some sense into her. Or better yet, fuck it into her. But in deference to our public location, I say, “At the very least, you owe me an explanation.”
“You came all the way out here for an explanation? Have you not heard of an invention called the phone? You can call and text on it. Hell, you can even email.” Her tone is pure sarcasm, and it makes it that much harder to keep my hands off her delicious little body—which is clad in a pair of tight jeans and a tucked-in T-shirt, a basic outfit that nonetheless highlights her full, heart-shaped ass and nipped-in waist. The yellowish light cast by the street lamp, combined with the high humidity in the air, is giving her porcelain skin a soft, dewy glow, and I want to strip her naked and taste her all over, concentrating on the slick, tender folds between—
Fuck. Now’s not the time for that.
“Are you saying you would’ve actually responded?” I ask evenly, wrenching my mind away from the X-rated fantasy. I don’t need any more fuel for my craving; my cock is about to punch a hole in my jeans as is. “Because I called you when I was on the way to the airport. Repeatedly—only to get your voicemail.”
Her chin juts out. “Maybe I would’ve. Either way, you had no business showing up at my grandparents’ house. How did you get here, anyway? All the flights into Daytona have been sold out for ages.”
A humorless smile curves my lips. “I have a private jet, kitten.” And a pilot who was able to change our flight plan from Orlando to Daytona Beach as soon as I realized the Daytona airport is closer to my intended destination. “As for showing up at your grandparents’ house, they invited me for Thanksgiving, remember?”
Her eyes widen at the mention of the jet, but then her eyebrows snap together. “That was before we broke up. If they knew—”
“But they don’t, do they? And you don’t seem in a big rush to tell them.” I cock my head. “Why is that? Could it be you’re not as certain about your decision as you seem?”
“I am certain.” Her small fists tighten further, even as she takes an involuntary step back. “I told you, I don’t want to see you again.”
There it is, the contradictory body language I’ve been looking for. Stepping after her, I ask in a deceptively soft tone, “Why?”
She blinks up at me. “What do you mean, why?”
“It’s a simple question.” Raising my hand, I tuck a bouncy curl behind her ear. “Why don’t you want to see me again?”
“Well, because—because I don’t, okay?” She moves to step out of my reach, but I catch her hands in mine.
“Why?” I repeat, rubbing my thumbs over the insides of her wrists. Sure enough, underneath the silky skin, her pulse is racing. She’s not indifferent to me, far from it—which is why this decision of hers makes zero sense.
I’d never chase after a woman who doesn’t want me, but Emma does.
I’ve tasted her desire for me, felt it drip all over my lips and tongue.
“Why? Because we’re not compatible!” Yanking her hands out of my grip, she steps back, her chest heaving with visible agitation. “This isn’t going anywhere, so there’s no point in—”
“Not going anywhere?” Anger, hot and potent, rises in me, mingling with the lust pounding through my veins. I can see the outline of her bra underneath the thin material of her T-shirt, and my cock throbs in my pants, demanding to be buried in her tight, sweet body. “What the fuck are you talking about? I asked you to move in.”
“Because you don’t want to deal with bridges and tunnels!” she all but shouts, stepping up and rising on tiptoes to get into my face. It’s a laughable attempt—she barely comes up to my chin—but the wind blows her curls to tickle my neck, and instead of amusement, I feel a hot stab of desire, a need so powerful it obliterates the remnants of my self-control.
Without a thought for the neighbors, I catch her face between my palms and bend down to kiss her—or more precisely, to devour her alive. I eat her mouth as if it were her pussy, sucking and licking every inch of her soft pink lips, sliding my tongue over her teeth, caressing the roof of her mouth, tasting and exploring every corner. There’s only a hint of bubblegum remaining on her breath—she must’ve chewed it right before I kissed her at the airport—but underneath is her own honeyed flavor, a taste and scent so addictive I know I’ll never get enough.
