Page 74 of The Casanova Complex

Of kissing her until I can’t fucking breathe.

She slides into my lap, never breaking the kiss, and straddles me, climbing on top of me with zero hesitation, with the sexiest confidence, and I’m about to have to start reciting the alphabet to keep from coming in my pants.

Backward.

My hand travels down to her lower back, pressing her flush to me as her hips rock against my dick, causing us to groan.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

If I come in my pants, I’ll never fucking live it down.

Ever.

In the history of the universe.

Tearing my mouth from hers, my pulse whooshing loudly in my ears, I kiss along the edge of her jaw, dragging my mouth down the column of her throat to skim my teeth along her pulse point. I trace the edge of that little black choker that’s been driving me out of my mind with the thought of replacing it with my hand. I nip at her heated skin until she’s whimpering. Until she’s tearing roughly at my hair. Panting. Whimpering.

“Bennett,” she breathes, the tiniest moan tumbling out behind it that has my dick twitching and heat racing down my spine.

It has me dragging my palms lower and lower until they’re slipping beneath the fabric of her T-shirt, and we’re yanking it up and over her head together. I want to stop and admire her, to drink in every inch of her, but there’s a frenzied urgency to us both that can’t be stopped. I slide both hands down to her ass, gripping handfuls and burying my face into her neck.

I want to sink my teeth into her, and taste her, and fuck her, and do a hundred fucking things to her.

With strength I genuinely didn’t even know I possessed, I tear my mouth from her. “Wait, wait, wait. Merritt,” I rasp, the words choking out of me against her skin.

Fuck, I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I’m stopping when this right here is all I’ve wanted.

But I have to.

I made a promise to myself, and as badly as I’m second-guessing it and telling myself I’m a fucking idiot for committing to self-imposed celibacy, I did it for a reason.

One that’s important to me.

It might fucking kill me, but I have to be strong.

She tries to pull me back to her, but I shake my head, kicking myself as I do it. “Can we stop… Just, uh, for a second?” I say before pulling back to fully look at her.

Jesus, she’s… fucking breathtaking.

Like I literally can’t breathe right now.

Her lips are pink and swollen from my lips, and her pale skin is flushed. Her dark hair is mussed and disheveled from my fingers tangling in it.

I want to tell her that she looks like every dream I’ve ever had, but I realize that she’s not staring at me with the same heavy-lidded gaze and same yearning that I’m staring at her with.

Merritt’s eyes are dark, and not from heat but something entirely different, and then she narrows them, her lip curling up into a scowl. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Her demeanor has completely changed, and I… don’t get it.

My brow pinches in confusion, but before I can ask what’s caused the shift, she scoffs and quickly ambles off my lap and starts adjusting her clothes.

“There’s no fucking way this is happening. Again.”

Okay, wait, what the fuck?

What actually is “this” that’s happening right now, and what the hell does she mean, again?

With her back to me, she yanks her T-shirt back over her head and pulls her long waves out of the back of it, then starts looking around on the floor for the Vans she kicked off when she got here.