Page 183 of A Taste of Vanilla

Warren sets the latte on another box without taking his eyes off mine. He steps closer, and I step back into the wall.

His hand comes up beside my head, palm braced against the brick.

“What do you like?” I ask softly, my chest rising and falling unevenly.

His tongue peeks out to lick his bottom lip before he pulls it between his teeth as he decides how much truth to give me. I can see the careful version of him reaching for the clean answer. The balanced one that will allow him to walk away without a care in the world.

Then his eyes go to my mouth again.

“I liked the way you tasted,” he admits.

Everything goes silent except for the ringing in my ears.

My mouth parts. “Warren.”

But his name isn’t a warning on my lips. It’s a plea. A mistake I’m desperate to make again.

He lowers his head until his mouth is next to my ear. “I lovethe way your pussy tastes when it’s wet from the thought of me fucking you—far more than I love any coffee, Hal.”

Heat drops through me like a bomb, and my knees threaten to give out.

“Are you trying to kill me?” I ask, feeling the place between my thighs grow slick with want.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

His mouth brushes the side of my jaw as my clit pulses. “I’m trying to be honest.”

I squeeze my eyelids shut. “That’s so much worse.”

His lips touch my skin again, just under my ear, and every smart, practical, mature thought I have ever had leaves my body immediately. My hands find the front of his shirt and the hand not braced against the wall settles at my waist.

I turn my head just enough for my mouth to brush his.

He makes a low, strangled sound.

And then he kisses me.

Not for long.

It’s not long enough to be a decision, but it’s far too much to pretend it didn’t happen. His mouth is warm and sure and a little rough, like he’s been thinking about this all day and is angry at himself for giving in. I taste the coconut and espresso on his tongue, and my hands tighten in his shirt because the answer to whatever question he may think he is still asking is yes.

Yes to this.

Yes to this careful man finally doing something that feels reckless.

“Halston,” he says, his fingers tightening around me.

“No,” I whisper. “Don’t do that voice unless you’re going to use it properly.”

His eyes darken, and excitement bursts out of me at seeing even the tiniest glimmer of Warren beneath the restraint before he locks himself down.

His thumb moves against me, slow and deliberate. “You’re abrave woman for wanting this before going back into that room with my sister.”

“I never claimed I was smart.”

He kisses me again, harder this time, and the brick digs into my back as I drag him closer.