Page 73 of The Casanova Complex

I hear her breath catch when I brush against bare, velvet skin. Part of me expects her to stop me from touching her, but Merritt stays blissfully silent, allowing me to ghost the tips of my fingers along the outside of her thighs where the denim ends.

I suppress a groan at the smooth, warm feel of her skin.

It’s been so long since I’ve touched anyone like this I might come in my fucking pants.

Jesus, and for it to be her.

Slowly, I slide my palm around the back of her thigh, dangerously close to the curve of her ass, and tug her toward me until she’s standing between my spread legs, staring down at me.

My thumb sweeps back and forth along the bare skin of her thigh, and I draw her even closer until her knees hit the bed and I feel the warmth of her pressing against my aching cock.

Why am I doing this whole celibacy thing again?

It’s funny ’cause right now, I can’t even think of a single good, legit reason that I thought this would be the answer to my problems.

What the fuck was I even thinking?

“What are you doing, Bennett?” Merritt whispers, her voice breathy.

A smirk plays at my lips as I lift the other hand to her neck, curving it around her nape to pull her mouth down to mine.

But I don’t kiss her, not yet at least.

I just breathe her in, reveling in how soft her lips are as they brush against mine each time she exhales.

Barely touching. Only sharing the simmering air between us.

It’s nothing, but somehow, it’s fucking everything.

But still, I can feel her hesitation. The slight tension in her body, a tautness that wouldn’t be there if she wasn’t overthinking it.

She’s still fighting with herself, with her desire for me, this attraction.

Just when I think she’s going to give in, to be the one to kiss me first, she turns to the side, her cheek pressed against my mouth as she takes in one shaky, uneven breath at a time.

My lips find the thundering pulse in her neck, and I press a soft, lingering kiss there. Yet another indication that she’s as affected by this as I am.

An undeniable one.

“It’s okay to enjoy it, Merritt. I won’t tell anyone,” I murmur against her heated skin, dropping another kiss, this time lower, and lower, skating my lips along the exposed glimpse of her collarbone. Her breath hitches, stuttering, as her fingers slip into the hair at my nape and tangle there, not stopping me but holding me in place. I nearly groan, the teasing words tearing out of me sounding raw. “Don’t worry, your stabby reputation is safe with me.”

Her body trembles as she laughs, and I’m grinning, too, despite the fact that I’m dizzy with how badly I want her.

She pulls back slightly and looks down at me, her eyes bouncing between mine, thoughts undoubtedly racing to the same tune as her pulse.

I open my mouth to say something, literally anything, that will convince her to kiss me, not because of the deal but because I know that she wants to, but I don’t get the chance.

Because “Fuck it” rushes out of her mouth a second before her lips crash into mine, her fingers gripping tighter in my hair to pull me even closer.

It’s like gasoline on an already lit fire that burns so goddamn bright I might black out, my head swimming with want like I’ve never known.

A deep, guttural groan tears out of me, and I kiss her like I’ve wanted to kiss her since the second I saw her, like a man possessed. I pull her flush against me as my hand slides from her jaw around to her nape, into her hair, where my fingers tangle in the long, soft, silky strands.

Her tongue sweeps against my lips, demanding access, and I swallow down her needy, wanton whine, tightening my grip in her hair, angling her mouth to delve deeper.

It’s rough and hurried and filled with a frantic type of desperation. Everything that I’ve been keeping locked up tight for weeks—no, months. Even before Merritt.

It’s a full-body experience kissing her, and I want more. I need more. Of her. Of this.