And then he’s kissing me. And it’s so hard to ignore.
I’ve spent so much time thinking about this, and so much time never getting what I want, that it knocks me senseless, this kiss, Faust giving me what I asked for. Then there’s what I haven’t said—he gives me that, too. His free hand winding into the loose fabric of his jacket, pulling our bodies flush, landing on my waist. His rough fingers on my face, anchoring me against him, his mouth on mine, inescapably close. Every touch is firm, purposeful, possessive. And I try to keep up with the kiss, but I can’t. He’s already so far past what I know, that all I can do is let go. I waited in line, I saw how tall the drop was, and I willingly strapped myself into this roller coaster.
Heat pulses deep inside of me as he licks my mouth open. His tongue slips over my lips, gentle at first—then not. And when his tongue brushes over mine, he makes the most indecent, insane groan that I might pass out.
Oh, fuck. I grab his shirt, dizzy, the kiss breaking.
Faust’s grip eases instantly. “Breathe.”
I obey, wheezing slightly as I take a pathetically shallow breath. I keep my eyes shut. “I’m okay.”
“Don’t lie.”
My face heats. “I’m not. Can we just go back to that?”
He chuckles deep in his chest, then there’s two muffled footsteps, and I peek to find Faust seated at the foot of his crisp white bed. And, how? How did I do this tohim? His shirt is wrinkled, his full lips kissed red, and a deep pink flush glows beneath his tan skin.He’s a vision. And still so ridiculously composed that it makes me want to kiss him until he isn’t.
Then, wordlessly, he pats his wide thigh twice.
The universally accepted signal forcome sit on my lap.
Goose bumps dart down the back of my neck.
“Do you…?” I swallow. “Should I…?”
“Come here.”
I pad over to him, my heart pounding. This is—it feels like more. More than kissing, though that doesn’t make sense. We’re not even kissing right now. Does he want me to sit side-saddle? Open-legged? He doesn’t say, only lifts his fingers to graze my side, encouraging me to make a choice, any choice. I tug awkwardly at my elastic shorts, hoping the fashion gods heed my prayers now and keep them from slipping down, then straddle him.
His hands ghost up my sides. “Better?”
I sink down, resting on him, and his hands slip down. I’m overly exposed, embarrassed, trembling, and much more comfortable. I nod.
Lines fan out from his eyes as he smiles gently, and there’s so much raw affection on his face that my heart snags in my chest. His thumbs brush up my stomach where he’s holding me steady, and I lean into his touch, our foreheads almost touching. My breath with his breath, my hands on his shoulders.
“What else?” he asks softly.
“Hm?”
“Tell me your other rules.”
As he talks, Faust’s hand snakes around my back, beneath his jacket, above my shirt. He presses against the dip of my spine, and I bow toward him on instinct, our lips grazing.
“I—I did. You know them all.”
“I don’t think that’s true.” His nose bumps against mine, each word an almost kiss. “All I know is, no dating, no sex.”
Ban him from saying that word while his mouth is centimeters away. The world would be better for it. “I don’t… ah.” There’s a warm pressure against my neck. His lips, now wet, moving against me as I speak. “I don’t talk to lawyers. And—no cops.”
He hums approvingly and, oh God, I can feel it in my throat. He’s that close. “Go on.”
“And… I don’t forgive. If you hurt me, I don’t, I—” My voice catches as he presses a kiss against my neck, my pulse pounding beneath his lips. “I won’t forgive you.”
His fingers tighten on me, greedy. “Good.”
Fuck me, he really has lost his mind in the exact same way I have. I’m all heartbeat, a bow strung too tightly. Hyperconscious of where he’s touching me—my neck, my hips—and the places he isn’t, where the angle of my knees and his lap and our heights haven’t even let us brush. “Is this still okay?” I ask, my voice almost a pant.
“You’re doing so good. So fucking good for me.”
