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In the best way possible.
His lips slam into mine, the force of that move pressing me against the bookshelves. My shoulder blade meets one shelf, the back of my ribcage another, and yet another is leaving a bruise on my hip.
Barrett notices. Never halting the kiss, he cups the back of my head protectively, his arm resting vertically along my spine. Now I’m cradled by muscle and the fresh scent of cotton and clean man. Much better.
He pulls his lips away from mine, and a heavy breath exits his lungs. “Fuck.”
I study him through drowsy lids, my lips still tingling from the kiss. Satisfaction resonates from everywhere we touch when I realize he’s coming apart because of that kiss.
Chin tipped, I tell him, “You taste like the cup of coffee you didn’t buy me today.”
He shakes his head, seems to debate a response, and then commits to, “If you’re back with North, I’ll stop.”
He’s in a holding pattern, his arms stiff, knees locked. My arms are wrapped around his torso just above his hips, which he’s purposefully distancing from mine.
“Kitty Cat… Do you want me to stop?”
I’ve gone from hating that nickname to being turned on by it.
“Kiss me, Fox.” Fingers in his belt loops, I pull his hips against mine. I’m rewarded by the feel of the hard length of him pressing into my belly. “Like you mean it this time.”
He doesn’t hesitate. This is the kiss I wanted at my apartment before we were rudely interrupted. I both feared it and wanted it to go on. It’s the sort of kiss that can only end with us wearing zero items of clothing.
He lifts me, hands cradling my ass and props me against one of the bookshelves. It creaks and shifts. A few books splat to the ground, their pages now hopelessly creased. His teeth rake over my bottom lip before abandoning it for my neck, where he suckles the skin there until it’s damp.
That’s not the only part of me that’s damp. I drag my flats uselessly along the backs of his thighs wishing I’d have worn my high heels. Then I could hook onto him and anchor myself while his talented mouth committed its delicious assault.
He returns his mouth to mine, one warm hand sliding behind my knee as my breath catches. Arms wrapped around his neck, I unseal my lips from his and regard him with wide eyes.
“I won’t venture any higher,” he swears, his wicked smile in full force. “But someday.” He gently brushes the inside of my knee with his thumb. “I’ll take my time kissing this part of you.”
On a sigh, I touch my lips to his and give him a hot, slow, tongue-tangling, mind-erasing kiss that has us both panting when it’s over.
I end our lip-lock with a sad hum and rest my forehead against his.
He disentangles me, sets me on my feet, and then tugs the hem of my skirt down to my knees. My (apparently) hypersensitive knees.
Someday I’ll take my time kissing this part of you.
Le swoon.
He adjusts his length so that it’s standing upright behind his fly, the outline of his erection obvious and mouthwatering. I fail at suppressing a shiver.
“Eyes up, sweetheart, or else it’ll never go away.” His voice is sandpaper. Every gritty word rakes over my sensitized skin. “Get going. I’ll follow after I collect myself.”
I steady myself before bending to retrieve the downed books. He catches my elbow and straightens me.
“Let me get it. Please. I cannot watch you bend over right now.” His desperate expression matches his plea.
“Okay.” Feeling a zing of excitement at having behaved like a rule-breaking teenager, I smile and turn to leave.
“Did you though?”
My head is a wad of turned-on fuzz when I ask, “Did I what?”
“Sleep with North on Tuesday?”
The fuzz sharpens to needles that I shoot from my pupils directly at him. Is he kidding right now? But he’s not. He waits, lips pressed into a flat line, fists at his sides.
