Page 55 of Dead Pretty

He slides his fingers into my hair, gripping the strands, and angles my head exactly where he wants it, so he can kiss me deeper.

It’s possessive.

It’s raw and needful. Desperate.

And I’m here for all of it.

His thigh slides between mine, parting my legs, bringing our bodies together. I can feel his erection pressed up against my stomach.

Sweet Jesus.

“I was right,” he whispers into my mouth.

“About?” I manage to say.

“How good you taste.”

I’m pretty sure I moan.

“And you feel even better than anything I could conjure up.” His lips are chasing a path down my neck.

“You thought about me? This?”

His eyes come back to mine. “Every fucking night.”

He takes my mouth again, the kiss fast becoming desperate again.

My hands slide down his arms, to his waist. Finding the hem of his T-shirt, I slip my hands underneath, against the hard of his back muscles, needing to feel his skin.

Soft. So fucking soft.

I hear a groan.

This time, it’s from him.

His erection pushes into my stomach.

I’m panting into his mouth. I feel like I’m going to explode. My clit is throbbing, pressed up against his thigh. I need to move to release the pressure.

As if reading my mind, he starts to move his leg against me, creating a delicious friction against the spot where I need it most.

I feel shameless in this moment.

I’m here, fully dressed, dry-humping my neighbor’s leg against his apartment wall, and I don’t even care.

I should stop this.

No, you shouldn’t. Shut up, Audrey.

That’s my vagina talking.

In all honesty, I don’t think I could even if I tried.

I want this. I want him.

We’re all heat, hands, lips, and tongues.

My hands move to his stomach, feeling the ridges.