Page 77 of Floodgates

“Yes.”

I tested the water. “You’re such a good friend to do this for Alex.”

“It has nothing to do with him.”

“Oh? What does it have to do with?” I had to ask. I had to know. And with my innocuous question I was out in the deep end, swimming into the wild, wild sea.

“It has to do with there being no one for four months.”

“Why are you so stuck on that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What would have prompted me to do that? We’re not close, yeah?”

“Four months?” he repeated, sounding almost annoyed. “Fuck.”

I lifted my hand to his cheek, meaning to pat it, to say it was okay, and thank him for worrying, but he covered it with his, turned his head, and kissed my palm.

Everything stilled.

He licked his lips and swallowed like he was nervous. I took in his hooded eyes and heard his breath catch, both reactions causing a quiver of excitement to run through me.

“Cord,” I whispered, sliding my hand from under his, around the back of his head, tangling my fingers in the thick hair, taking hold. “You want me.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling, and I felt the shudder go through him.

“You want me bad.”

“I just need a second to—”

Easing him forward, I sealed my lips over his. I wasn’t sure what he would have done; he always got close to me and then something or someone would pull him away. We had been interrupted more times than I could count. Just once, I wanted to taste him.

It was simple: there was a mere breath separating us. I lifted and captured his mouth, taking what I wanted, kissing him hard, slipping my tongue between his parted lips, rubbing it seductively over his. The low moan from the man suffused me with heat as I registered that he was kissing me back roughly, mauling me, hands on my face, holding tight.

The soft whimper from the back of my throat sounded greedy, full of want, and I scared myself with my own hunger. Some of it was the sex drought, I could own that, but mostly it was Cord. I didn’t have the same kind of history with any other man, no lurking unfulfilled passion, no sexual tension that you could cut with a knife. Five years of desire had flooded me, and because I was surprised, I tore free, panting softly, afraid of what I would do if I kept kissing him, so close to throwing my arms around his neck and climbing into his lap.

He was staring at me, and even in the low light I clearly saw his blown pupils and swollen lips.

I had to swallow before I could speak. “I’m sorry. You were being nice and I took advantage.”

He got up abruptly, and I felt like such an ass. Groaning, I turned to the window even though the shade was down because the movie was on.

Normally I would have run. Faced with an embarrassing situation, distance and time would have fixed it. But I was stuck, and even as I ran through scenarios, my mind kept tripping back to kissing Cord.

Dear God.

I always assumed the man knew what he was doing in bed. Everyone wanted him; he was quarry everywhere he went. I’d been witness to that more than once. Men who had been in bed with him once always wanted a repeat performance. But I also knew the man never stuck around. He was the king of the one-night stand. None of that mattered, though, as I relived the kiss. The searing heat, his teeth on my bottom lip, how hard he sucked my tongue… I had gone boneless and needy in his arms. There was no question: whatever he wanted, I would give. I could only imagine what he must have thought. There I was telling him that Breckin and I were done only to basically assault him.

I was horrified by my behavior. Now was the time to trade seats, before I died of embarrassment.

Leaning forward, I was going to peer through the seats, but the armrest was raised between Breckin and Celia. And while I was surprised, it didn’t bother me.

“What are you doing?”

My head snapped up, and I found Cord looming over me.

“Nothing,” I assured him. I turned in my seat, grabbed the flight pillow, leaned sideways and closed my eyes. Not that I could sleep, but it was the only escape I could see.