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“I don’t know what it is when I’m with you…” I breathe between kisses, lost in this man who’s consumed me in a way I’ve never experienced, “… you’re so—”
“Bad?”
“Yes,” I pant.
“And I’m nothing like you’ve ever had.”
“Yes,” I repeat, running my hands through his hair.
The warmth of his lips leaves mine, his body now distant with a bitter smile. “I thought you were different.”
The loss of contact leaves me uneasy. It takes me a moment to respond. “What kind of a question is that?”
“It’s not a question,” he responds, flatly.
Adjusting my dress that hitched up during our heated kiss, I straighten my posture, trying to get a hold of myself. “Maybe I should go.”
“I thought you were different.”
“What does that even mean? Different from who? Okay, so I love to read and would rather spend my night playing Monopoly. This isn’t my scene tonight. So, I’m different, who cares? The world needs different. Not everyone can be like you and Emerson.” The words come out harsh, not at all as I intended. I’m frustrated we’re even having this conversation when a minute earlier I was caught up in the best make-out session I’ve ever had.
“Do you think you’re the first girl who’s called me bad and told me I’m like no other man you’ve been with?”
“No…” I trail off, pausing. “But it’s the truth. You’re bad… for me. Every part of me says not to be with you. You will hurt me, and I’ll end up with a broken heart and have to move back home because I can’t deal with the shame. You’re not like any man I’ve been with. The last four years I’ve spent with Liam. Liam’s caring. He’s kind. He doesn’t have a bad bone in his body.”
“And I’m none of those things,” he answers, smugly. “I don’t fucking care about anyone, right?”
“What do you want me to say?” I throw my hands up with frustration. “I can’t seem to win. If you want the truth, this is it. You’re not Liam. You’re Wesley. The guy who’s gotten on my nerves and crawled under my skin. The same guy I haven’t stopped thinking about every day since that day in the café. The same guy I’ve fantasized being with not because he’s bad but because he does something to me, this butterfly sick-to-the-stomach feeling. The thought of your hands all over me makes me want to throw all caution to the wind and live for this moment.”
“I’m right here,” he whispers, closing the gap between us.
“I know you are.”
The tip of his finger runs down my cheekbone and across my bottom lip. My eyes close—focusing on my internal sensations—controlling my breathing while his gentle touch consumes me. With a slight tilt, his mouth has found mine, the warm feeling and taste of desire find me again.
This slow, sensual pace heightens all my senses until he pushes me against the wall, slamming our bodies together, his tongue feverishly battling with mine.
I pull away to catch a quick breath, gulping for air as if my life depends on it.
“You’re bad for me.” His face is buried in my chest, kissing my skin eagerly. “Too innocent.”
“A little innocence never hurt anyone.” I latch onto his shirt, pulling him up so I can taste his lips again. “Good girls can turn bad, too.”
“No,” he breathes with a silent plea in his tone. “Your innocence is sexy. In fact, a fucking turn-on.”
I grin, touching his cheek softly. “Oh really?”
“Shhh, stop talking. I need to fuck you now.”
I’m falling for him.
Into this blissful moment as his hands wander across my body, each part he hasn’t touched is begging to be noticed.
The wall is sticky, and my dress gets caught against the rough edge. I don’t care. I want him—here and now.
His palms slide under my dress, against my thighs with a slow, burning ache. My body reacts to him, grinding against his hardness and dry-humping him between our clothes, which suddenly become a nuisance.
I fumble with his buttons, wanting to expose his chest and run my hands against his skin. Though the lighting is reduced, the desire in his eyes burns through me as I spread apart his shirt and admire the view. He’s just like I imagined—ripped, muscles in all the right places, and so very manly.
