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He sends a smile my way when I look at him and I offer one in return.
“Plus, I really am just awful at feeling bested.” Another sigh at the night sky. “If truth or dare were a professional sport, I’d be the MVP.”
“You’re sharing all your secrets with me,” he reminds me.
“It helps that I think I’ll never see you again.” Words that should make us slow down, only reignite that spark, creating a kind of foreplay I’ve never experienced before.
Ezra is silent again as we reach the bookstore.
I push the key into the lock, and I swear I canfeelhis focus on me. It’s like a laser beam targeting the side of my face.
My breasts peek through the deep V of my dress as I lean toward the handle to unlock it. I push the door open and turn to press my back against it, allowing him the space to fully enter before I do.
“Truth or dare?” he asks, his breath brushing against me as he walks past me, inside.
Easy.
“Truth,” I answer. I have no idea what type of bidding he may be into, sexy or not.
I follow him inside and we’re doing a slow dance, avoiding collision.
Avoiding the inevitable.
I choose to head toward the desk, claiming the stool once again. I turn on the lamp at the register, filling the place with a muted yellow light. The stuffy air is mixing with something much heavier.
“You’re certain? Because once I say it, there’s no going back.”
His warning has desire doing flips in my belly.
He says the right words, and there’s no way he knows how deeply he’s penetrating my shell.
There’s no way he knows I haven’t had sex in ten months.
No way he knows how hard it is to make me finish; how frustrated the men in my past have been, unable to crack the code of my body.
He looks like he’d make a sport of it.
Like he could coax multiple orgasms out of me with a simple crook of his index finger.
“Go on,” I urge him, my library whisper in full effect.
“You look like you want me to fuck you,” he murmurs from across the desk, a tightness wrapped around his vocal cords. His poker face is impressive, and I wonder what the flush I’m sure I’m wearing looks like.
Does it continue to share my secrets?
He plays it safe, keeping his cards close to his chest.
Tonight, I’m laying it all out between us.
He didn’t ask a question. But I answer him anyway. “I do.”
And then he unravels, reaching for me so my knees hit the top of the desk moments before my lips meet his.
But it isn’t a meeting; not really.
This is fire and explosives and hot lava melding us together.
This is fucking with tongues and teeth and smothered moans.
