Page 114 of Clinically Awkward

And then she did. Her lips brushed against my jaw, soft, gentle, barely there, and I forgot how to breathe. She kissed the bruise once. Twice. Her mouth moved slowly across the tender skin. “Better?” she whispered.

“Getting there,” I managed.

She kissed my jaw again. Then my cheek. Then the corner of my mouth as my hands found her hips automatically, fingers digging into the soft fabric of my T-shirt.

My T-shirt. On her. Fuck! “Vivian.”

“Shh,” she said again, and kissed me properly this time. Her mouth was warm and soft and tasted like coffee, and I was pretty sure this was the best hangover cure ever invented.

I kissed her back, my hands sliding from her hips to her ass, pulling her closer as she made a small sound. A half-laugh, half-moan before she ground down against me.

And just like that, I was hard.

Painfully, achingly hard.

She felt it too, because she grinned against my mouth and shifted again, rolling her hips in a slow, deliberate grind that made me see stars.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

“That’s the idea,” she murmured, and kissed me again as her hands ran through my hair, tugging gently as she deepened the kiss. My hands were under the T-shirt, sliding up her bare thighs, her hips, her waist.

No underwear.

Of course no underwear. “You’re trying to kill me,” I said against her mouth.

“Is it working?”

“Absolutely.”

She laughed and kissed me harder, her tongue sliding against mine as she rocked against me, and I groaned, my hips bucking up involuntarily.

This was insane. I was hungover. My jaw hurt. I was pretty sure I still smelled like jail, and I didn’t care. Not even a little bit. Because Vivian was in my lap, wearing my shirt, kissing me like she wanted to devour me, and I was going to let her. Besides, if Julien was going to kill me anyway, I might as well make the most of the weekend while I was still breathing.

My hands slid higher, pushing the T-shirt up and over her head as she lifted her arms, letting me pull it off, and then she was naked, her skin flushed and warm in the morning light streaming through the windows.

“Jesus,” I breathed.

Her breasts were perfect. Full and soft, nipples already hard from arousal. I could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her breathing as ragged as mine.

“Like what you see?”

“You know I do.”

She grinned and leaned in, her breasts pressing against my chest as she kissed me again. The sensation of her bare skin against mine sent electricity straight down my spine. I could feel the heat radiating off her body, smell the faint scent of my shampoo in her hair mixed with something uniquely her. I cupped her breasts, my thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she gasped into my mouth, a sharp, needy sound that made my cock throb painfully against the confines of my jeans.

“Quinton.”

“Yeah?”

“Touch me.”

“I am touching you.”

“More.”

I didn’t need to be told twice as my hands moved lower, sliding between her thighs, and she was already wet. Soaked, actually. I could feel the slickness coating my fingers the moment I touched her wet pussy, hot and slippery and absolutely perfect.

Fuck.