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“You’ll fuck off forever with or without the kiss if I say so,” I warn, trying to make my voice firm. But it’s gooey and weak with temptation. Because, God, I’ve wondered. So many times, I’ve wondered what it’d be like to kiss him. And here he is offering.
He smiles then, a quick, brilliant flash. “Of course I will. But let’s do it anyway. Let me kiss you, Berry.”
I must be losing it, because I think I’m going to let him. God help me.
Chapter Seven
Brenna
A kiss. I can do this.
“Okay.” I squint at Rye through one partially opened eye. “One kiss.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Try not to look too enthused there, Bren.”
“Shit.” I suck in a breath. “I’m sorry. It’s just…It’s you. You know?”
He runs his thumb along the scruff of his beard as though he’s doing his best to rein in a smile. “I know.”
The soft understanding tone of his voice tells me he does know exactly how weird this is. But the way he’s looking at me, all that carnal heat barely banked, tells another story entirely. And that’s the one I suddenly want to read.
Flushed and frazzled, I turn fully his way, tucking my legs under me on the couch as my shoulder rests against the soft back cushion. “Okay. Kiss me.”
Silence falls heavy between us. I feel it pressing into the thudding center of my chest. Rye’s expression is serious, almost solemn as he reaches for me. His big hand, warm and rough, trembles before gently cupping my cheek. My insides jump and flutter, but I manage to keep still.
Or at least I do until he leans in. His lips come within a hairsbreadth of touching mine when a laugh bursts out of me. He pulls back as I dissolve into a helpless ball of nervous, snorting giggles.
“For fuck’s sake…” He’s trying to sound stern, but he’s smiling wryly. “Are you going to be serious?”
“Sorry. Sorry.” I clear my throat and wipe my eyes. “I’m good now. Totally.”
His brow quirks. “You sure, Berry?”
“Yep.” I draw in a quick, deep breath and let it out, tilting my head up to meet his gaze. “I’m good now.”
The blunt tip of his thumb caresses a sensitive spot just under the corner of my mouth. “You sure?”
“Completely.” My lips twitch. Butterflies wage war in my chest.
He dips his head. Every inch of me feels him closing in, warm, big, blocking out the light, the sound. He smells delicious. His breath tickles my lips. A laugh bursts out of me again.
“I’m sorry!” I’m giggling like a schoolgirl, and just as flustered, my cheeks searing hot. All I can think is, Rye is about to kiss me. Rye Peterson is going to kiss me. Rye. Kissing. Me.
He has the uncanny power to send me straight back to adolescence.
Rye moves back just enough to meet my gaze, his bemused and dry. He doesn’t say a word, just searches my face, probably looking for signs of another outburst.
My lips wobble on a helpless grin. “I’m sorry. I have the giggles. It’s just…it’s you.”
I am repeating myself. But he doesn’t point it out. Ducking my head, I try to get a grip; it’s embarrassing as hell to be this flustered in front of him. Hell, it’s just a kiss. Amateur hour, really. I shouldn’t feel like my heart is trying to bang its way out of my chest over a simple kiss.
“Bren. Look at me.”
When I do, he takes my hand in his and presses the tips of my fingers against the side of his neck. His pulse beats hard and fast.
“I know,” he whispers. “I know.”
Because it means the same to him.
I’m no longer laughing. I can’t. He’s all around me, hands framing my face, the heat of him warming my skin. The man is his own furnace, always running a bit hotter than anyone else. Being this close to him, with all that intense focus on me, is strangely heady, and I find myself breathing a little faster.
I breathe out, and he breathes in. In. Out. We’re exchanging air, both of us quietly shaking. I’m close enough to see the crystal starburst of white lines within the warm blue of his eyes. Then his thick lashes lower, his gaze settling on my mouth.
God. I feel it. Feel the pads of each individual finger pressed against my skin. Feel his shuddery exhale.
“Rye, I—”
His lips capture mine. Heat punches through me, flaring hot between my thighs, pulling tight on my nipples. He kisses me like a man who’s been stranded in the dark and just found a source of light, his entire body straining toward mine. Firm lips learn my shape. Soft licks, gentle sucks. I lose my breath, and he gives it back to me in a husky exhale, a small murmur that speaks of hunger. It stokes my own. I nudge closer, my lips parting, pressing.
