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“Just want someone who will let me be me.”
I curl my pinkie against his. “You don’t want someone to push you, to try to help make you better?”
He thinks on that a minute. “I don’t mind being pushed, but I don’t want to be shoved.”
“What’s the difference?” I ask, my beer clutched tightly in my hand. This seems significant somehow, important. I’m listening so fucking earnestly.
“A push can be something gentle, a nudge in the right direction. A shove, it feels more aggressive. I’m too old to be shoved, Quinn. I just want someone to love me for who I am.”
That’s it, that’s all I fucking need.
I reach up and grasp on to the back of his neck, pulling him down toward me. Giving him that push he needs.
His eyes widen a moment before our lips crash together. I keep my eyelids peeled open—I want to watch my first kiss with him. I want it seared into my brain.
He tastes even better than I imagined, a little like the beer he just drank, and I groan. I’m drunk off of him. So fucking wasted.
But it’s over much too fast, Grey pulling his head away slowly, his breathing a little labored.
“Quinn,” he grumbles, his voice rough.
I throw my head back and sigh. “I know.I know.I won’t do it again. It was just a little push. I wanted to see what it would be like, kissing you.”
Grey’s eyes are focused on me, his beer dangling in his hand, and I fidget a little under his stare. God, did he hate it? I don’t think he hated it. We barely brushed lips before he pulled away. I can do so much better than that. I could rock his world.
“And how was it?” he asks suddenly, and my hands start to shake.
“I think I’d need a larger sample size to make my determination,” I reply, remembering that from my statistics class. It’s the one thing I took away from that boring-ass course.
He mulls that over for a moment and then he reaches out, that big hand pulling me toward him, his lips lowering onto mine, and I nearly combust. My dick throbs between us, pushing against his abdomen.
He shifts impossibly closer, and I cling to his face, holding him still as I tilt my head and bite down on his bottom lip.
He grunts a little as I suck on it, nearly fainting from the sensation, but my eyes are open and locked with his. He hasn’t closed his either. No, I can see the flecks of gold in his irises. They’re so bright, he positively burns. He’s so goddamn hot.
My tongue snakes out and presses between his lips, hoping he’ll let me inside. His lips part like the fucking sea, and I plunge in, sliding my tongue along the length of his as he lets out a shaky exhale.
Oh god, yes. Oh fuck. He’s enjoying this too, this electric current flowing from my body to his and back again. We’re completing a circuit.
His tongue moves just slightly, flicking against mine, and I gasp, fucking into him slowly, taking my time. Savoring it.
But all too soon, he pulls away, and I’m left gasping, my hands still on his cheeks, my mouth feeling sensitive and under-used. I want it to be bruised from his. I want him to bite down on me until I taste blood. I want to walk away feeling him on me for hours.
“Better?” he asks, wetting his lips, and I just continue to hold him, his hand still clutching the back of my neck.
“God, Grey,” I say softly, feeling my heartbeat in my ears. “Better? That was the best kiss of my life. I want to do it again.”
His fingers flex against me, and he shakes his head. “Can’t. And you know why.”
“If Josh wasn’t an issue, would you let me do whatever I want with you?” I ask, and his eyes meet mine, something unreadable in those depths.
“I don’t know.”
“No, you know. Tell me.”
He lets out a deep breath and nods. “Probably…because that’s just the kind of man I am.”
“And what kind of man is that?” I ask, forcing him to continue looking at me. “A loyal one, a kind one, a hot one?”
