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“Okay?” I repeat.
“I’ll lie to you.”
Wait, what?
I almost yelp when he ends the distance between us with one stride, only stopping once he’s got me backed up against the bathroom counter. I can’t speak, the words dissolving on my tongue.
So. Freaking. Close.
“I don’t want to do this,” he rasps.
A jolt of electricity tears through me when he grips my waist with one hand and jerks my body flush to his.
What is he doing?
“Or this.” His available hand slowly climbs up my bare arm, unleashing shivers all over my body. I think he can feel my goose bumps because he smirks, sweeping my hair over my shoulder and exposing my neck.
“Will, you’re… you’re drunk.” My voice trembles.
God, the effect this guy has on me.
“I don’t want to do this.” He completely disregards me, cupping my face into his palm and skimming his finger across my cheek. But it’s when he runs his thumb along my bottom lip that I know…
I’m not getting out of this bathroom with my heart intact.
“I didn’t want it to be you earlier.”
Internal scream.
“And I am not fucking dying to lift you up on that counter and kiss you right now,” he says roughly, inches away from my mouth, so close I can smell the liquor on his breath. “That enough lies for you, control freak?”
Right then, I really stop breathing. Not because of what he just said. But because of the move he makes. The move that’s going to change everything.
He grabs the back of my neck and crashes his mouth against mine. Before my body’s even had the chance to cue in my brain on what’s happening, I’m kissing him back, repaying every touch, every sensation with interest. Our kisses start soft, slow, harmless, but the second he sucks my lower lip between his teeth, all bets are off.
His tongue slides into my mouth, and I’m pretty sure if we were in a cartoon, he’d see my heart dramatically jumping out of my chest. My fingers wander into his hair, fisting it, pulling it, while his travel from my shoulders, to my arms, to my hips. Just like that, we go from testing the waters to letting it drown us.
You are so going to get hurt, my voice of reason screams.
Shut up and enjoy the ride, my heart counters.
We sway back and forth, our mouths moving in sync like two pieces of a puzzle finally falling back together. It’s perfect. And it terrifies me. Because a first kiss will usually tell you if two people are a fit, show you whether you can see a relationship going somewhere. And, right now, I can see myself doing way more than making out with him in a bathroom.
For lack of a better term, I’m fucked.
Banding his hands around the back of my thighs, he plants me on the counter without a warning. I grasp at his collar, yearning for the high I’ve been denying myself. He wedges his way in between my legs, strong arms closing around me as I allow my fingers to slip inside his unbuttoned shirt. I explore his body, memorizing every curve, every muscle. I’m not entirely sure I’m in control of my own actions when my hand drops to his belt. It lasts a second, if that, but his reaction is instant.
He grunts into my mouth.
Oh.
I jerk my hands away, but it’s too late.
Shit just got real.
I can’t muffle a moan when he grips my thigh, slowly bunching up the hem of my dress and squeezing my leg to the point of leaving a mark.
Kass, what the hell are you doing? This is supposed to be a kiss. Not porn with clothes on.
