I close my mouth.
The pulses building between my legs are growing stronger, more forceful, until each one shoots straight through my core. The ectoplasm may be amplifying things, but underneath that chemical amplification is something that’s purely mine. This desperate, aching need for him that’s been building since the moment he crouched in front of me in that parking lot and told me I was okay.
I grip the front of his sweatshirt with both hands and pull him down toward me, crushing his mouth to mine.
He tenses, but he doesn’t pull away. His lips are pillowy and perfectly soft. Way softer than I was expecting. The rest of him is all hard edges—most of the time, he looks like he’s carved out of granite—but not his mouth.
For a second, he’s completely still. Then his other hand comes up to cup my face, and he kisses me.
Nicokissesme.
It feels like every cell in my body just let out a collective sigh.Yes.
My lips move languidly, really taking my time so I can enjoy the feeling of his mouth against mine. His fingers slide into my hair, and I’m pretty sure my brain has melted and is dripping out of my ears because nothing exists anymore beyond my body and his.
I climb onto the counter behind me, holding his face with one hand to make sure he doesn’t think I’m trying to move away. He steps closer. His strong hands wrap around my hips so tightly I can feel each individual fingertip, and the feeling of him holding me is so what I needed that I’ve never been so turned on in my entire life.
I tease his lips open with my tongue and arch into him, pressing my chest flush against his until there’s literally no space left between us.
More. I needmore.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him between my thighs. The friction makes us both gasp, and suddenly his mouth isn’t so gentle anymore.
He kisses me like he’s been starving for it, hard and urgent and completely undone, like he can’t get enough fast enough. I kiss him back just as hard. His teeth catch my bottom lip, and when his tongue sweeps into my mouth, I taste ice cream and salt and something else uniquely him.
His hand slips under the bottom of my sweatshirt, diving clean under the fabric and sliding up my back, his fingers splayed wide. There’s too much fabric between us.
I grip his hoodie, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank it over his head. Then we’re kissing again.
“Eden,” he groans. I’ve never loved the sound of my name more. “Eden, please, tell me to stop.” He mumbles the words against my lips without pulling away, like our mouths are magnets that can’t bear to be apart even for a second.
“Don’t you dare,” I say.
I lift my arms and he rips away my sweatshirt so fast that the fabric scratches my skin, quickly followed by my T-shirt. I’m suddenly in just my bra and the air is cold, but I don’t care because Nico’s mouth is on mine again and his hands are on me, starting a fire every place they touch skin. He fumbles to unclasp my bra. Then that falls away, too.
He doesn’t stop to look at me, doesn’t even open his eyes, only kisses me faster. The calluses on his hands make me moan as they skim over my hard nipples and circle the tops of my breasts before clasping around them, hard. The pressure makes stars burst behind my eyelids, and my toes curl in my socks.
I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die right here in this kitchen, and it’ll be a good way to go.
He tears his lips from my mouth to my neck, and my head falls back as his lips move down my jaw, down my throat, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin there. The pulsing between my legs has become unbearable, and when he grinds against me, I moan so loudly that I wish I could swallow the sound.
I reach to untie the drawstring of his sweatpants. I need him out of them. Need to know if he wants this as badly as I do. Based on what I can feel pressing against my thigh, the answer is yes.
I slip my hand inside his waistband, palming him through his boxers.
His hand catches my wrist. He pulls away enough to break the kiss, and the world around me comes to a crashing halt.
I actually whimper at the loss of contact. His forehead rests against mine, his fingers still twisted in my hair. I can feel him trembling. I am, too.
I open my eyes to find panic written all over his face.
I lean back enough to look up at him fully, confused. His pupils are blown so wide there’s barely any green left, and he’s breathing just as hard as I am.
“Nico?” I sound like I just got off the treadmill. “Are you okay?” I’m hit by the sudden realization that this is exactly what Griffin asked me in the gym after I pulled away, and I feel ill.
Nico says nothing. Just stares at me like he’s trying to solve a math problem.
I’m opening my mouth to ask again when his eyes lock onto something above my head. Any want that might remain drains out of his face, replaced by something cold and sharp and so angry it makes me flinch.
