Page 122 of Truly Madly Deeply


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“So…” I walked back, jerking my finger behind my shoulder, to the car. Cal, you coward. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. For the run.”

“I’ll be there.”

“And work.”

“I’ll be there too.”

I forced myself to turn around and cross the street to my car.

Do not look back. He sent you on your way. You couldn’t have been clearer.

Couldn’t I, though? I had spoken to him about cannibal sandwiches. Maybe this wasn’t how one usually expressed their longing toward another.

With a sigh, I fumbled for the car key in my sweatpants, unlocked the Subaru, and reached for the driver’s door handle. I pulled it an inch before a hand slammed it shut behind me, grabbing my waist and whipping me around.

It was Row. And he looked raw.

“Moonlight. Music. Chin tilt. You came here because you wanted me to kiss you, didn’t you?” His tiger eyes gleamed like a thousand fireflies in the dark. My knee-jerk reaction was to deny, deny, deny through my teeth. Damn anxiety. I plowed through that instinct like swimming against a heavy stream.

I gulped. “Yeah.”

“Fuck.” His shoulders sagged with relief. “I’m so glad I’m just slow, not completely dumb.”

His mouth fused with mine, sucking away my oxygen and all rational thought.

This time, it wasn’t awkward and apologetic like the first time. Not explosive and frustrated like the second time either. This was new, hungry, and perfect.

His tongue swept across the seam of my lips before prompting them to part with a flick. I opened up for him, our tongues tangling in an erotic dance. Row cupped the side of my face, groaning ferally, digging his inked fingers into my hair. A tide of heat crashed inside my belly, sending currents of warmth to my nipples, spine, and the back of my skull. I clutched his shirt, burrowing into him as he deepened the kiss, tilting my head back, pinning me against the car.

“Dot.”

He tasted divine. Of toothpaste and a shot of whiskey and something unapologetically male. Primal, hot, uncontained. My fingers wound tighter around the fabric of his shirt, and I felt the defined, tight ridges of his pecs and the dusting of hair on his chest. My toes curled and I whimpered into a hot, wet kiss that didn’t have a beginning or an end. It felt like we were fused together, a hotwire of mini-orgasms.

I needed more. I needed everything. I wasn’t even sure what everything entailed. I ran my frigid fingers down his arm, lacing my fingers in his and guiding his hand to cup one of my breasts. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and my nipple was tight and puckered, begging to be teased.

“Missed your tits,” he hissed out huskily, sounding almost pained, as his thumb rubbed and flicked my nipple through my sweater.

“Do you remember them much?” I explored his mouth like it was a forbidden fruit, devouring its juices, seeds, and flesh.

“I remember every inch of you.” A satisfied growl made its way from the back of his throat, and he pinched my nipple teasingly, just south of inflicting pain. “Each individual cell.”

His hand skimmed my rib cage, running down my belly, stopping at the hem of my sweater before snaking underneath it. He swirled my skin with his fingertips, all while angling his head to kiss me deeper. My knees gave out and I clawed his shoulders to stay upright, heat racing down my body to the apex between my thighs. I could feel my pulse in my clit. My blood pumped inside it, making it unbearably sensitive and swollen.

This was too much, and yet entirely not enough.

His hand hiked up under my sweater, the pad of his finger rubbing my nipple, and I melted into him, sucking the bottom of his lower lip greedily into my mouth with a desperate moan. “More.”

“How much?” He kissed a path down my jaw, then neck, then collarbone. It was a sticky kiss, full of my lip gloss and its fruity, sweet taste.

“All of it. I want you,” I said.

“I need you,” he hissed.

He buried his face in the crook of my neck, thrusting his kraken-sized erection between my thighs. My clit pulsated against it through our clothes, and I swore he could feel it. His cock jerked, tap-tap-tapping it, bringing me closer to the edge.

“Row?”

“Dot?”

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