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My breathing is heavy, his own a mirror of mine, and I can’t help but think about how I should probably be scared.
This man whodoes not like mehas me pinned in place in my bakery.
But I’m not afraid.
No, I’mturned on.
And honestly? Right now? That’s so much scarier than feeling real fear.
“Nothing,” I whisper under my breath, the air whispering against his lips. “A heavy bag. I was carrying a heavy bag on my wrist and it left a mark.”
He moves closer with my words, and as I stare into his eyes, I know two things down to my soul.
One, not a single part of him believes my story of how I got the bruise.
Two, Benjamin Coleman is going to kiss me again.
And if I want to throw in a third, undeniable fact: I’m not going to stop him.
And then his lips are on mine and everything goes blank.
My mind. The world around me.
The panic that’s been slowly creeping into my bones for days.
The pressure of my family.
The frustration I feel toward this man.
It’s all gone.
In its place is fire.
Fire everywhere his hand touches my body.
Heat radiates off him and onto me, warming me to the bone.
His lips press to mine, surprisingly gentle, scruff scratching at my chin, and it’s not what I expected.
I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t think about what it would be like to kiss this man again, despite trying to convince myself that it would never—could never—happen again.
I thought it would be rough, like last time.
Demanding.
But this is gentle and kind and . . . exploring as his lips move against mine, softly testing the waters and tasting.
My tongue reaches out, touching his bottom lip.
And then he groans.
A switch is flipped.
The sound reverberates through my entire body, sending a shiver through me. His hand on my hip grips, grabbing me tighter, more demanding.
Another hand grabs my braids, tugging them back to angle my head how he wants me.
And then his lips are devouring me. His tongue is licking at my lips.
