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She spins around, her ponytail slapping me in the chest. I want to wrap it around my fist and kiss a path up her throat to her mouth. No, no, no. That can’t happen. Then she isn’t just a problem, she’s my problem. But even as I think it, my eyes drop to her pouty lips. My frayed self-control is about to snap.
“What the hell are you doing?” She tips her chin up, defiant, eyes wild and stormy. “Can you back the fuck o?—”
I cup her face in my palms and slant my mouth over hers, cutting off the angry shit coming out of her. I’m right. Her lips are soft and pliant, a stark contrast to the cutting words we stab each other with all the time. She makes a shocked sound as I stroke inside. Her hands wrap around my wrists, and her nails dig into my skin. I fully expect her to shove me away and possibly slap me across my idiot face. She should. But she doesn’t. Instead, she presses her hips into mine and shoves at my tongue with hers, fighting her way inside my mouth.
I’d kissed her half hoping this raging chemistry was a lie, that this attraction I feel is some strange response to how irritating I find having her around. But apparently my body is a big fan of things that piss me off. Her mouth tastes like fresh fruit—strawberries and pineapple. Her hair tickles the back of my hands. She smells so damn good.
And this kiss, this one fucking kiss is everything I didn’t want it to be. It’s not like any other. We’re years of history colliding. Her mouth on mine is a balm, and desperation has me tipping her head so I can deepen the kiss. I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t stop. All I want is more.
I finally pull away so I can drag in some much-needed air. We stare at each other, both of us heaving like we’ve finished running up a mountain. I want to glue my mouth back to hers and put my hands all over her body. But she might still slap me. Maybe it’s taking her a minute to get her bearings and realize this is a colossally bad idea. Because it is. It’s the worst idea ever. She’s my best friend’s sister. The last person I should touch. Her life is a mess, and I don’t have the bandwidth to help her fix it. I don’t want the responsibility. But I want her.
“God, I hate you.” Her voice is a soft, smoky rasp that sends a shot of lust straight to my already aching cock. She releases my wrists, and her hands twine in my hair, gripping the strands as she pushes up on her toes and tries to drag my mouth back to hers. “You drive me up the wall,” she adds. It sounds like an accusation.
Before she can fire off another insult, I suck her bottom lip, letting it slide through my teeth. And then I take her mouth in another searing kiss.
I run my hands down her sides, squeezing her ass as I lift her onto the counter. She moans when my erection presses between her thighs, and she hooks her legs behind my back. When I try to push my tongue into her mouth, she bites it, then sucks on it. She’s fisting my hair, making needy noises as we frantically make out. And it’s not enough.
I find the hem of her shirt with one hand and her ponytail with the other. I wrap the length around my fist as my palm skates over her ribs and cup the swell of her breast. She moans and juts her chest toward me, like she’s looking for more. I thumb her nipple, and she gasps. She fits perfectly in my hand. Even that annoys me, so I pinch the tight peak, and she shrieks. I tighten my grip on her ponytail so she can’t retaliate by head-butting me or using her teeth.
“Stop trying to rip my hair out.” I brush over her nipple with my thumb again, a barely there caress.
“Why? Worried about premature balding, asshole?” She gives it a vicious tug.
I let her ponytail slip through my fingers and grab her wrists. After finding the pressure point that makes her release my hair, I pin her hands behind her back with one of mine and reclaim her ponytail with the other. I tug her head back, lips hovering over hers. “I told you, you didn’t want my attention, but you had to keep on pushing.”
“Seems like you didn’t mind my pushing all that much.”
I bite the edge of her jaw. “You have no idea what you’re in for, Bea.” My lips skim the column of her throat. The smell of her lotion and shampoo is overwhelming. Intoxicating. I should really walk away. Stop before it’s too late.
