Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Have you ever been kissed properly?”
Her top teeth sink into the luscious pink of her bottom lip. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
You’d know.
My thoughts thunder inside my head. Bad idea. Don’t. You’re crossing the fucking Rubicon and there’s no going back.
But I still flatten my palm on the door beside her head.
I still spread my legs and step forward, trapping her against the door as I melt my hips into hers.
I cup her neck in my other hand and capture her mouth in a kiss.
Chapter Eleven
GREER
Oh.
My.
God.
For a second I’m too stunned to do anything but vibrate against Brooks’s caress.
He actually did it.
He actually took my dare and kissed me.
And oh, two heartbeats in, I can already tell he is viciously, vitally good at this. His lips are soft but his mouth is hot, and his movements are taut with barely suppressed hunger. He presses his thumb to my chin, angling my head so he can better control the kiss, its depth, its pace.
He goes slowly at first, drawing his lips across mine with expert pressure. Heat floods my body when his tongue swipes my bottom lip, drawing it between his teeth. I fall back against the door with a whimper. He follows me, pressing against me with the full breadth and might of his enormous frame. He’s warm and solid. His jacket whispers against mine as he ducks his head and slips his tongue between my lips, coaxing them open.
How is he so gentle and so powerfully urgent all at once?
He drinks me in, small sips that become thirsty pulls. He tastes like fire. The wine, the cider. The smoke and the heat.
My head spins and my knees go weak.
And yet, somehow I’m still able to rise into his kiss, meet him stroke for stroke. I angle my head this way, then that, following his lead. We fall into a fast, eager rhythm. My body pounds in time to my frantic heartbeat.
I’m kissing, we’re kissing, oh my God, I’m kissing Brooks.
Heat flares low in my core. I roll my hips into his, seeking friction, and he responds by ducking his head to kiss my neck. Sensation bolts through me at the feel of his stubble against my skin. My clit pulses. I gasp, loudly, and he covers my mouth with his hand, a move that’s wrong and rough and so hot I can’t stand it.
I sink my teeth into his palm. He growls, the echo ricocheting between the barrel of his chest and mine, and I think I might come from the sound alone.
So this is why everyone’s obsessed with sex. This feeling right here. My toes curling into the soles of my boots, the beat between my thighs. The soaring sensation in my chest. I finally get it.
And now I want more than a kiss from Brooks. I want it all.
I want him to show me everything.
Brooks trails his lips up my neck. My chin. The corner of my mouth. I turn my head, grabbing the collar of his jacket so I can pull him to me. Our mouths meet. Tongues, lips, breaths. Keeping up with him is a workout. His movements are lithe, quick, those of an athlete. I slip my hand inside his jacket and flatten my palm against the solid wall of his chest.
I’m surprised to find his heart is beating as hard and fast as mine. The idea that he’s feeling it too, the pull between us that’s deeper than just a physical urge—
“That,” he whispers in my ear, suddenly pulling back so my hand falls away, “is how you should be kissed.”
My eyes flutter open at the loss of his heat. My lips are throbbing. My body is a live wire, too tender to imagine touching but too turned on to want anything else.
And that motherfucker, the guy who did this to me, he’s standing apart from me. Keeping a safe distance between us as he runs a hand over his face, like he can’t quite believe what just happened either.
“Wow,” is all I can manage.
He turns away and digs a key out of his back pocket. “Goodnight, Greer.”
Panic sets in. I reach behind me, blindly searching for the door handle so I don’t collapse in a heap on the floor. “You d-don’t want to c-come in? You could show me more. You could show me, um . . . everything. All the things.” My voice is shaking.
I’m shaking.
Jesus Christ, this man is so good at this he’s literally left me a quivering mess.
He is leaving me. He’s in the act of it, not meeting my eyes as he moves farther and farther away, and there’s a sinking feeling in my stomach.
“You said it yourself. Just once.” His voice is scraped bare as he inserts the key into his door. “Don’t ask me again, Greer.”
And then he goes inside his room and lets the door slam shut behind him.