Page 19 of Depraved Boys

I moaned and tried to keep up, but the fire in his kiss felt like it would consume me. This was madness. In my seventeen years, nothing as exciting as this man, this kiss, had ever happened to me. Alarm bells rang in time with my frantic pulse. We were moving too fast, and he still hadn’t answered my question.

Placing both hands on his hard chest, I jolted at the heartbeat reverberating against my palms. He got the message and eased off.

“No,” I said between panting breaths. “I mean, why would someone like you kiss someone like me?”

He glanced at our cottage. “Money and its trappings are nice, but they don’t define a person.”

My lips parted to tell him that I hadn’t been referring to our financial differences, but no words came out.

His hand rested on my thigh. “I don’t know you yet, but it’s been ages since I could talk to someone who really understands what it’s like to lose everything. I like talking to you.” Then his gaze lingered down my body. “And it doesn’t help that you’re easy on the eyes.”

“Now I know you’re making fun of me.” I turned away and sighed. At least I’d had a memorable evening.

“You’re shaped like a fifties pin-up,” he added. “Girls back then didn’t work out or obsess with muscle tone. They were soft, curvaceous, feminine… Just like you.”

My cheeks heated. “Stop it.”

“I won’t. And your eyes are huge and expressive. Like I’d imagine Betty Boop if she suddenly came to life.”

A smile curled my lips, and I turned back to his sparkling eyes. “Why am I getting the impression you like fifties paraphernalia?”

“I’ve watched Grease about a hundred times.”

A laugh bubbled out of my throat. “Which was made in the seventies!”

“It was my gateway to the fifties.” He sniffed. “I fucking loved Rizzo.”

“The bad girl.”

“She was misunderstood.” He wagged his finger at me, reminding me somewhat of Leopold at the end of his confrontation with Cormac. “Did you not listen to the lyrics of ‘There Are Worse Things I Could Do?’”

“It sounds like you memorized them.”

“There are worse things you could do than let me kiss you,” he murmured. “Just a goodbye peck.”

“You won’t go any further?” I tried not to imagine him naked. Tried not to wonder if he had a body like Leopold’s or an erection as long and thick. Tried not to picture how it would feel if I knelt in front of him and worshipped at the altar of his masculinity.

He crossed his heart. “I can’t promise you anything apart from my guarantee that I’ll back off the moment you ask.”

“Alright.”

His hand threaded through my hair, and he leaned forward and pressed firm, demanding lips on mine. This kiss felt like a promise. A promise that if I let him in, he would awaken a part of me that had nothing to do with calculus or computing or quantum mechanics. The curve of his tongue around mine made my nipples tighten, and the hand traveling up my inner thigh made wetness gather in my folds. My body screamed for more, and its demands drowned out the last of my common sense.

“Willow, you’re so gorgeous,” he murmured into the kiss.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“I’ll tell you when we swap numbers.” He ran the pad of his finger over my panties and grazed my slit.

Sensations exploded across my core. This was too fast. Too intense. Too soon. “Wait!”

He drew back. “Are you alright? Was that too much?”

“Just some fresh air.” I unbuckled the seatbelt, opened the door, and scrambled out of the jeep.

He leaned across the driver’s seat. “Can I see you again?”

I sprinted down the garden path, ignoring his pleas to stop and didn’t look back until I’d unlocked the door and stumbled inside. The warm scents of home greeted me, and I leaned against the cool oak, breathing hard.