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I wonder if he’s doing this on purpose.
“You said what happens in this room stays in this room, right?” He murmurs the question against my lips, tickling me.
“Y-yes.” I didn’t mean it in regard to things like this though…
“Perfect,” he says, just before he takes the kiss deeper, his tongue doing a thorough sweep of my mouth.
I cling to him, helpless, my tongue sliding against his over and over. Oh, the man can kiss. Better than Bryan. Better than anyone I’ve ever kissed, not that there have been many.
I’m sure Knox Maguire has kissed lots of women. Hundreds of women.
The thought doesn’t deter me, because his magical lips are currently on mine and, my God, I don’t think I’ve felt anything better.
He breaks the kiss first, disappointment coursing through my blood, my mouth aching and already missing his, but I’m immediately placated when he blazes a path of kisses along my neck, making me shiver. I tilt my head back, a sigh leaving me when he continues to kiss and lick at my sensitive skin, and I’m clinging onto his shoulders like I’m afraid I’ll slip away if I don’t. His hands are running up and down my back, nice and slow, and I crack my eyes open when he pulls away, so our gazes meet.
“You can touch me, you know.” The desperation in his voice is obvious.
He’s dying for me to put my hands on him.
Giving in to his need, I slide my hand down his chest, slowly. Lingering. Wishing I could shove my hand beneath his T-shirt and touch his bare skin.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” The words leave me without hesitation. I didn’t even plan on saying them.
“We’re just kissing. That’s it.” He actually does slip his hand beneath the hem of my sweater, his fingers streaking up my spine, making me shiver. “Your skin is so soft.”
That one statement spurs us into action and has us frantically reaching for each other. His arm hooks around my waist. Mine slide around his neck. Next thing I know, I’m on his lap, straddling him in the chair, our mouths fused, our low moans filling the air. The sound of our lips connecting. Breaking apart.
Connecting again.
He is so incredibly big and strong. And the man smells better than any other person on this planet, I swear to God.
He’s got his hands buried in my hair, fingers tangled in the tresses, his tongue doing a deep dive. I press my chest against his, needing the closeness, needing something more, but unable to ask for it because after all…
This is just kissing. That’s it.
It’s some of the best kissing I’ve ever experienced.
We go at it for what feels like hours. Just nonstop making out, like we’re teenagers in the back of his dad’s car, unleashing all of that pent-up passion we’ve been holding in, knowing this is the only chance we’re going to get. There’s a desperation to his kisses too. As if he’s worried this might be his only shot and he’s going to take as much as he can.
Finally, we break apart, our breathing hard and erratic, my head a jumble of chaotic thoughts, every one of them having to do with Knox. My mouth and jaw ache from all the kissing and when I finally dare to look up at him, I find he’s already watching me.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” he admits, his voice rough. He hesitates, and my heart drops. “But I don’t regret it happened.”
My heart soars once again, though I mentally tell it to calm down. I should tell him Idoregret it. That this should never happen again. What we’ve done is extremely unprofessional and I could lose my job. I’ve gone against just about every moral code I have when it comes to my tutoring position. I’m a complete disgrace.
“I don’t regret it either,” I whisper instead.
His smile is small. Devastating. He leans in, his mouth brushing mine, setting off a fresh set of tingles all over my body and then he grabs hold of my waist, pulling me off him.
The disappointment is palpable, but when I check the time, I see we have less than five minutes left of our tutoring session. I go straight into business mode, gathering my things with shaky hands and placing them in my bag. I keep my head bent, unable to look at him, afraid I might break the spell.
This was probably a one-shot deal. No way can we do that again. He might even want to switch tutors, replacing me with someone who’s less distracting to his celibacy plan.
“I know you don’t care about football but…you want tickets to this Saturday’s game?”
I glance up at his question, frowning at him. “You’re offering me tickets?”
“Well, yeah.” He shrugs, shoves his hands in his front pockets, and waits for my answer.
