Page 38 of Big Dill

That makes me grin.

“Okay, Big Dill,” I tease. “For the record, just because something is big, doesn’t mean a guy knows how to work it.” A grin touches his mouth, and I need to shut up but my brain has other ideas, “I highly doubt you really were a Big Dill⁠—”

“Big deal is what you mean right?”

“Yeah, and you probably came at me with your A-game, so a repeat performance seems highly unlikely.”

“Yeah, highly. So you want to shut up so I can kiss you, prove there’s no chemistry⁠—”

“That I’d probably rather kiss a cod⁠—”

He doesn’t let me finish.

Brody pushes my hair back, his mouth landing on mine, soft at first, testing, familiar and not familiar at all. A quiet sigh escapes me before I can stop it. He leans in, caging me with his body, and my hands slide around his back, mapping the play of muscle beneath my palms as his tongue slips in, slow and deliberate.

We both moan.

My body arches, craving more as he deepens the kiss, his tongue gliding against mine like he’s relearning every inch of me. The heat of it steals my breath, my balance, my grip on reality.

It’s the hottest kiss I’ve ever experienced.

Twice.

“Brody,” I whisper, fingers threading through his hair as his hands move to the outer curves of my breasts. My nipples tighten, aching for the rough press of his thumbs. His kiss takes the air from my lungs, the room, the planet—until I’m no longer sure I exist anywhere but here.

Time goes still. The room is quiet except for our harsh, needy breaths. Fire licks up my thighs as his palms brand my sides, and I can’t tell if this is heaven or hell—but the heat between us could melt the Arctic tundra outside.

He breaks the kiss at last, pulling back just enough to breathe.

His dark eyes lock on mine. He stares for a long second, chest rising and falling, then—like his synapses finally fire again—he gives a slow, disbelieving shake of his head.

“Shit, Little Birdie,” he murmurs. “I’ve had better chemistry with a mouthguard.”

I gasp for air, heart thrumming as he plays this ridiculous game with me. “Yeah… I thought I was licking the pavement. Smoother.” God, that rough tongue, the memory of it crawling over me that night…

“So much for spark,” he snorts, mock disgust in his tone. “That was more like static electricity.” He shivers, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, shaking it like it’s soaked. “The cod,” I say, voice shaky. “I was right. Would have been less sloppy.”

He crinkles his nose like he just tasted something unpleasant. “I think I need mouthwash.”

“Sage,” I offer.

“Exorcism.”

He takes my hand, helping me sit up. My legs dangle over the edge of the bed as he stays between them, close enough that heat radiates off him.

I jerk my head toward the skeleton in the corner. “Honestly, I’d rather make out with that. More emotion. Warmer hands.”

“Promise me we never talk about this again.”

“Ever.” I hold my hands up, palms out. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“I wish I could say the same,” he mutters, voice low. “But when I’m in bed at night…”

I cock my head.

He closes his eyes, shivering slightly. “It’s going to haunt me in my nightmares.”