If I’m not careful, I could end up catching feels. And if I let myself listen to the constant drip of the defrosting heart in my chest, it might even be too late. Does this place have a freezer? I need to re-freeze.
Out of our prison gear, he’s in sneakers, sweats, and a shirtthat fills out across the shoulders and biceps but hangs a little around the waist. This guy’s in shape.
A shape I like a lot.
A smack on the machine and a declaration of glee draws my attention from his cute bubble butt.
“I did it, Firecracker!” He charges at me. His warm arms curl around my middle for a split second before he lifts me off the floor and spins me around and around until my breath leaves my lungs and I’m dizzy.
Can’t quite tell if it’s the spinning, or the fact I’m in his lickable arms—huh, who knew arms could even be lickable?—but either way, I’m breathless and my brain is whirring.
“Did what?” At least that’s what I was trying to say, but he’s hugging me so hard it sounds like a half-squeak, like one of those noisy dog toys is on its deathbed.
“New high score, baby!” The words are barely out of his mouth before he comes to an abrupt stop. He slides me down the front of his very hard body, and before I can ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing touching my curls, his fingers are tangled in my hair and his lips are closing in on me.
As his mouth presses against mine, his hands cup my face. My lips part on a sigh, my body sagging against his. My ex hated public displays of affection. Well, I guess he just hated them with me, but this…this is public, consuming. It’s so intense that my body vibrates as his tongue pushes into my mouth and finds mine.
He swallows the sigh that falls from my lips as he backs me against the side of the nearest video game console. His kiss is fire, his tongue possessing every part of my mouth like he has kissed me a million times before.
Sparks of something I try—and fail—to ignore tickle across my skin as he nips and tugs on my bottom lip. His kiss is every bit as playful as his personality. Fun, sweet, tender, while also being scorching hot.
A group of guys erupt into cheers behind Loki—I assume because one of them got a high score on a machine—pulling me out of whatever fever dream I was in with this guy whose real name I don’t know and dropping me back to reality. A reality where I’m dry humping a stranger’s rock-hard cock against the side of the Ms. Pac-Man machine in broad daylight.
Mischief sparkles back at me when I finally rescue my lips from his. They’re swollen, pulsing and tingling, but he’s so close, so in my space that I can’t reach up to touch them. He pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger and kisses me again, hard, claiming, no tongue, keeping his eyes open and locked with mine.
It’s a kiss filled with possibilities.
A kiss I’m not ready to have right now, maybe never, but also a kiss I can’t walk away from. From the minute he walked into my jail cell, I’ve been cuffed to this man.
Experience has taught me it’s going to end in tears. But years of Disney movies keep tiny embers of hope alive somewhere deep inside me.
His lopsided grin does me in. I can’t even lie to myself that I don’t have a crush on this guy. I do. A stomach-fluttering crush I want to explore after only a few hours of being in his company.
My stomach growls, but all the ambient noise makes it too loud for him to hear—thank fuck.
He leans forward, his mouth brushing against the shell of my ear.
“I could eat.” His voice is laced with a double meaning that makes me clench my thighs together to fight the inferno he’s already sparked between my legs.
“Do you like Brussels sprouts?”
I jerk my head back in surprise and slam into something hard. “Ouch.”
Before I can answer his vegetable question, he’s checking my head. “You okay? How many fingers?”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “I’m fine, you weirdo, it was just a bump. And I can’t say they’re my first choice of vegetable, but I don’t hate them.”
He taps me on the nose. “Prepare to be wowed. The Quarter Barrel does maple bacon Brussels sprouts that are blow-your-mind incredible. Fuel then fuck?”
It’s more of a statement than a question.
I shrug, sliding my hands up the front of his shirt and linking them behind his neck. “I think you mean fuel then fart.”
A blurt of laughter explodes from him, surprising me. He’s smiled and chuckled, but this is a full-on laugh that has him stepping back and doubling over in a matter of seconds.
“This is true. But don’t worry—if you fart while we’re having sex, I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear it.” He winks at me.
“You’re a fucking liar.” I wag my finger at him. “I’ve known you for a half a damn minute. If I decide I want to go anywhere near your bed, and happen to fart, you’ll never let me live it down.”
