Before my brain fully processes what he means, he drops his hand and picks up the remote. His eyes are locked on the screen again, with less enthusiasm this time, as he rewinds to the spot that started the whole damn conversation.
I doubt that.What does he mean? That he doesn’t think once would be enough? He’s probably right though. Every touch makes me crave him more.
Neither of us return to our previous positions. We remain pressed close together, his arm stretched over the back of the couch. Not quite an embrace. Which is fine, since this is not quite a relationship.
The movie ends with the cliched ‘it’s not over’ hints of every horror movie hoping to get enough attention for a sequel. I glance at Euan to find he’s already looking at me. I mean to ask him what he wants to watch next, but the words tumble out as, “What do you want to do next?”
And my eyes drop to his lips.
It’s not fair that I only got to kiss him when I was drunk. I barely remember it. Shouldn’t I at least remember the kiss that landed us in this mess in the first place?
“Alex?” The way he says my name is curious and maybe a little bit hopeful.
My eyes snap back to his and it takes effort to swallow the lump in my throat. “Maybe just a kiss.”
“Just a kiss,” he repeats, dragging his fingers along my back, eliciting a deep shudder. “Only if you really want to, though.”
“I want to.” I barely get the words out before surging forward, grabbing his face with both hands to hold him steady while I crush my lips against his. He falls backwards, thumping against the couch, and his hands tighten around me, bringing me down with him. I sprawl across his broad chest, one of my knees firmly planted on the cushion between his thighs, the other almost falling off the couch but I don’t even care.
His lips are firm and pliant while his beard is soft and scratchy and ticklish all at the same time. I only have a moment to catalog the sensations before he opens his mouth and slips his tongue between my lips. I may have started the kiss, but he’s the one who takes control of it, guiding our tongues into a twisted, tangled dance.
We only part for the occasional heaving breath, lips wet and glossy from saliva, before we find each other again.
It doesn’t go further than a kiss, even though I can feel the bulge of his arousal hot and hard against my knee while my own erection aches to be touched. I raise my hips, trying to resist the desperate urge to rut against his leg. The longer the kiss lasts, the more my muscles strain from holding this position, as if all my body wants to do is collapse on top of him, to find as much connection as possible while we’re still clothed.
We are so fucked.‘Just a kiss’ clearly isn’t enough for either of us. My hands itch to tear off both of our clothes, to touch him skin to skin, to enjoy as much of each other as possible with what little time we have.
My fingertips creep up under his T-shirt, brushing against his tight, taut stomach. At some point, his hand hasdone the same and is now splayed against my back. If we could stop kissing long enough to speak, I’d tell him:I changed my mind. Give me everything.But god, even that seems like too much distance.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I barely register the noise long enough to pull my lips away from Euan. His are red and puffy and I imagine mine aren’t any better. From the tingling on my face, I’ve probably got a hell of a beard burn. As I stare at his kiss-swollen lips, I don’t even remember what distracted us.
I’m leaning in to kiss him again when a voice calls out. “Alex? Are you home?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, but not before I see the mix of disappointment and irritation flash across Euan’s face.
“Why is Theresa here?”
Chapter Eighteen: Euan
As Alex shifts to stand up, I’m tempted to tighten my arms around him to hold him down. To ignore the persistent woman at the door. Let the rest of the world fade away until it’s only the two of us. Instead, I allow my arms to drop like lead weights onto the couch. I don’t help him up, but I don’t hold him captive either.
He stumbles a little as he stands, like he’s lightheaded from our make-out session. I smirk as my eyes trail down his body, right to where all the blood went. “You sure you want to answer the door like that?” I ask, keeping my tone light.
Though maybe I shouldn’t have said anything at all. Iwanthim to answer the door exactly how he is: kiss-drunk, weak-kneed, and hard. The only thing missing is a trail of hickeys down his neck.
Alex snorts and adjusts himself then calls out, “Just a minute!” He looks down at me, conflict written all over his face. He doesn’t ask me to hide away even though he clearly wants to.
“Do you want me to get the door so you can go to the bathroom? Wash your face and give yourself a few minutes to calm down?”
“Could you?” he asks, inching toward the hall.
My predicament is less obvious than his, so I nod and stand up. He bolts down the hall quick as a rabbit. I wait until the bathroom door is firmly closed, then open the front door.
Theresa’s mouth opens to say something and remains open as she stares at me.
“Come on in,” I say it like I live here and she’s the first-time visitor.
