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I remember how her pussy felt on my tongue. I consider how it would feel now if I ripped back the blankets, dragged her little ass to the edge of the bed, and devoured her.
I keep one hand in her hair, plant a knee on the bed, and lean down over her.
I swear to myself I’ll just drop a chaste kiss on her forehead. That’s all.
But when my lips touch her warm skin, I have to keep going.
I move slowly, brushing my lips across her skin. It can’t even be called a kiss, I’m just making contact. Her forehead, her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.
Her breath rushes out and burns against my skin when my lips touch her mouth. I let my tongue dart out just to steal a little taste of her lips, and I want to kiss her so fucking bad.
If I kiss her, I won’t be able to stop there. I’ll have to touch her—more of her than I already am. I’ll have to palm her breasts and touch her belly, and then she’ll gasp and writhe and I’ll have to touch more of her. Then my hand will be between her thighs and her maddening little sounds of pleasure will get under my skin, and I won’t stop. I won’t stop until my cock is buried deep inside her and…
I have to stop.
I have to go.
I pull back just enough to meet her gaze. See her big brown eyes shining with a potent mix of vulnerability and desire.
She wants it, too, but she’s lost in the moment, just like I am.
There’s too much I don’t know about things between her and Jet, and things are already bad between her and her mom. There are things I don’t even know about her level of experience, things I would need to know before I could take things that far.
I can’t do it.
Not tonight.
I want to. I fucking want to.
But I won’t.
“Goodnight, Kennedy.”
A soft breath escapes her as I pull back and move my knee off the mattress. I don’t wait for her to speak. I need to get out of this room before I lose my slippery hold on my convictions and fuck her senseless despite my best intentions.
It wouldn’t take much at this point. My self-control is on a short leash.
Then I get to the door, and when I put my hand on the light switch, I hear her call out.
“Goodnight, Mr. Granville.”
That goddamn name.
It feels like a taunt.
She wants me to turn around and ruin both our lives as much as I want to do it.
But of course she does.
She’s 18 years old.
I have to have enough sense for both of us right now, so without giving in to my baser urges, I turn out the light and head for the couch.
Chapter seven
Kennedy
I linger in bed longer than I typically would this morning. Partially because Milo’s king bed is so comfortable, but mostly just becauseI am lying in Milo Granville’s bed.
