Page 71 of Sterling Stone

He isn’t wrong. I hadn’t exactly given him an indication that I’d like to hear from him.

“I wanted to,” I whisper, glancing from his eyes to his lips.

“I’m sorry I didn’t reach out, then.” Sincerity rings through his tone, like he truly regrets not messaging me.

Then again, he isn’t a mind reader. He didn’t know. I hadn’t asked.

“You could always reach out now.” My voice sounds steady, but inside I’m vibrating. Not with a sexual rush of need but more a simmering desire to have more from him. To feel his lips on mine again and remind me of how he kisses. Consuming. Confusing. A closeness I’d been afraid to admit I’ve longed for.

“What are you saying, Taxi?” His voice is equally as quiet as mine. His nostrils flare once. His mustache twitches.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I say, my words parroting what he said that night we first kissed.

When his hand comes to the side of my neck, and his thumb strokes over my cheek, my eyes involuntarily close.

“I need to be certain you want this.”

My lids ping open, and something in my eyes must give him the answer he needs because his mouth is suddenly on mine, taking what he needs, giving me what I want.

I want this. This confusing, confuddling, comforting sensation he brings to me. The same feeling I had the night I met him, that something was different about him. He was special, unique in a way I couldn’t define then.

His mouth is warm, lips in control, sipping along mine before stroking the seam, forcing me to open, allowing his tongue to meet mine. The kiss moves from a slow exploration to full investigation within seconds, and I lean forward, gripping his well-worn tee while he cups my jaw, holding the edge of my face like I’m precious. A sacred piece in his hands that his mouth continues to discover.

He pulls at my lower lip but doesn’t release me, going in once again, deepening the connection. Tongues swirl, smiles spread, but our mouths never leave the others.

“Uncle Stone, I . . . oops.”

We break apart like teens caught making out, and Stone spins, shielding me a bit from the interruption.

“What do you need, Zelle?” he addresses his young niece, clearing his throat while he speaks.

For my part, I fight a giggle and tuck my head against his shoulder blade, gripping the back of his T-shirt near his waistline.

“We wanted to have another dance off. We need you to judge.”

Stone’s hand comes around his back, brushing at the side of my thigh. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay.” The young girl giggles and pulls the door closed behind her. The soft click of it latching shut sounds in the room, along with a shout from the hallway.

“I caught Uncle Stone kissing Miss Taxi.”

Stone hangs his head, and the laughter in my throat finally escapes.

He spins to face me, capturing my face in both his hands. “Find that funny, do you?”

“Absolutely not, Stoic Stone.” I laugh again, harder, until his mouth is on mine one more time, swallowing down the sound and stealing my breath once again.

When he pulls back, leaving me a little stunned and smiling like a fool, he presses his forehead against mine.

“How do you feel about being a dance-off judge?”

“Sounds amazing.”

He has no idea how deep the answer is.

Sounds truly astounding to be part of this group, someone considered important enough to make the photographs on Stone’s office wall and be his guest at Sylver Sundays.

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