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Chapter Nine
Kayla
He’s kissing me, his mouth hot and demanding, his hand sliding up my face, slipping into my hair.
Missed his mouth on mine, I realize, and God, he tastes good, like licorice and dark, salty caramel.
No guy has the right to taste and smell so good after waking up from a bad dream, drenched in sweat. A dream I came in to wake him up from. He’d been shouting in his sleep, twisting on the bed, his hands curled into tight fists on top of the covers.
And now his lips are over mine, rough and soft like raw silk.
Like him.
I lift my hand to his face without conscious thought. His stubble is rough under my palm. He runs his tongue over my teeth, over the roof of my mouth, and fire spreads down my body.
My brain fizzles out. I’d be lying if I said I don’t want this. Kissing him again has been on my mind since that first time in his kitchenette. But a tiny part of my sluggish brain whispers that this isn’t such a good idea.
Because running my hands over some serious man-candy like Ocean is cool. Kissing him once and bragging to my friends is okay—though I just realized I didn’t brag about it. Weird.
Anyway, copping a feel could be filed under “man-candy reconnaissance,” but a repeat? That’s like stepping into a minefield. I’m here as a friend, right? Are we friends? Are we something more?
Something less?
Then he swipes his tongue over mine, sending electric sparks over my skin, and the thought fizzles out. He shifts so that he pins me down on the bed and presses his body to mine.
Oh God, yes. So good, better than I imagined. Can’t think when it’s Ocean kissing me, touching me, the most beautiful boy I’ve ever met. I can’t hold back anymore. All my doubts and questions and fears fade in the onslaught of desire. I’ve wanted into his pants for months now.
Heck, if I’m honest with myself, I’ve wanted him from the moment I met him—but he never seemed to care, so I’d convinced myself I didn’t care, either.
I reach up, tangle my fingers in his blue hair, soft like feather down, and arch up against him. He gasps against my lips and breaks the kiss.
Before I can protest, just as I start tugging lightly on his soft hair, he lays his body right on top of mine, long and strong and hard, propping his elbows on either side of my head, hedging me in.
Looking down at me, his blue eyes wide, his face soft with wonder, like I’m a hallucination. Or like he’s still asleep. Still dreaming.
“Fuck, Kay, you’re…” But he never tells me what I am because he dives for my mouth, invading my senses, and his body moves over mine, a heavy, hot wave.
He licks, bites and sucks on my lips until I’m writhing underneath him, my hands holding on to his lean waist, his rocking hips. He pulls back only to bow his head to my neck. He sucks on my skin, and it sends bolts of need down to my core.
“Need you,” he breathes against my wet skin, sending shivers skittering over my skin. His silky hair brushes my cheek. “Need to feel you.”
Oh God, yes.
He lifts a hand off the mattress and pushes my sweater up, his rough palm slipping under my blouse and brushing over my skin, finding my boob and cupping it. His thumb finds my hardened nipple and flicks over it, wrenching keening sounds from my throat.
His breath catches. He knees my legs apart, pressing between them, his hardness against my softness, and pushes my sweater and blouse all the way up, pulling them off me.
My hair spills around me, and he lifts a strand to his face, inhaling. “Fuck, so damn sweet.” He releases it and leans over me, his hand deftly burrowing between us, lifting my skirt, finding my panties.
My heart is pounding. My pulse is throbbing between my legs. I could stop him now, before anything else happens. Say I changed my mind.
But his hand only rests over my panties, over my seam, a warm weight. His eyes have darkened to a midnight blue. A flame plays in their centers.
I want him to do dirty things to me. Dirtier things. And I want to undress him and touch every inch of that muscular body, run my hands over his broad shoulders, down his lean hips. I want him, dammit.
Yes, I know I shouldn’t. We’ve already established this means nothing to him—and should mean nothing to me—but thinking about it is one thing, and having him pressed to me is something different entirely.
His lips ghost over my shoulder, trail down my chest. “I’m gonna put my mouth on you,” he says, his words puffs of warm air tickling me. “Taste you. Lick you until you come so hard you lose control.”
