“No trouble.” He’s clearly lying. “I just need you to kiss me.”
I jerk back, but Damon catches my hand, keeping me close. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Who needs to think?”
“We do . . .Ido.”
“You ran out on me the other day. What were you thinking then?” he asks acutely. His eyes are so sharp it feels like they are filleting me open.
“I . . .” I stumble over my words. “I wasn’t. I mean, I had an appointment I had to get to. I had to go.”
Damon pulls me a little closer, and I tense up. “Are you scared of me, Liv?”
“No.” I shake my head, inhaling the scent of the leather draped over his shoulders. It reminds me painfully of my father.
“Then why won’t you kiss me?”
“Because it’s not a good idea. What happened the other night—”
“Was fucking amazing,” he cuts me off. “And I can’t stop myself from wanting more. From wanting you, one more time.” His appeal is so raw, so earnest. So unexpected.
The way he’s looking at me, it’s wrecking me. Wrecking my resolve. I know I shouldn’t kiss him. It’s a mistake in the making, but everything I’ve been trying to suppress, all the feelings spouting up, are daring me to move. To lean in closer and submit to his plea. But I hesitate.
I shouldn’t kiss him, even though I want to.
Even though I want him —So. Fucking. Badly.
“What are you so afraid of Liv?” he provokes me.
“Too many things to admit in one breath.”
“Ignore your fears,” he prompts. “Ignore everything and just kiss me.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Ignoring everything but me?”
Damon leans in closer, but not close enough to kiss me. He’s saving that threshold for me to cross. “Yes. I don't care about anythingbut you.” His statement is so fierce I actually feel the syllables flutter through my nervous system.
I stare at Damon’s cut lip. He licks it provocatively, tempting me to bring my mouth to his. Tempting me to toss aside all my doubts, fears, and reservations, and just give in. To succumb to what we both want, despite my hesitation.
“You don’t care about anything but me?” I ask delicately.
“Not right now. The only thing I give a shit about right this second is you.”
That statement dings my heart and dents my vulnerability.
“Kiss me, Livey,” he urges again, and this time, I don’t want to say no.
Sometimes, doing the wrong thing feels right. Feels good. Feels free. Damon brings back that sense of adolescence in a way, when everything felt new and wondrous and exciting.
I push up onto my tiptoes wanting to chase that feeling. He leans down an inch to meet my mouth, and as soon our lips touch, that same spark ignites. The same one from ten years ago — and three days ago.
Our attraction clashes like cymbals, a harmonious collision that enhances and heightens the desire that has been bubbling since the moment we came face to face.
We kiss and kiss and kiss until we’re breathless, until kissing just isn’t enough.
“I need to be inside you.” Damon clutches my hips tightly, urgently. “It’s all I can think about. You’re all I can think about.”
You’re all I can think about, too.
