Page 35 of Every Move You Make

It’s impossible not to look her right in the eyes when we’re positioned like this—not to take myself out of the mindset of a personal trainer helping his client and just see a man atop a woman as she spreads her legs for him.

But there it is again—in her eyes. There’s something she needs to get off her chest.

“How do you feel about what happened Saturday night?” I blurt.

Robyn takes a deep breath, and we switch legs. “Everything was just… so unexpected.”

Is she talking about me? Could she feel that connection too? Jesus H. Christ, someone give me a blinking neon sign inside my brain that readsNO MORE DATING CLIENTS.

“Between you—I mean,” she stutters, her eyes wide. “What I learned from you, that is. And seeing Isaiah and that… that guy I was dancing with,” she groans, pushing her palms into her eyes. “All of it. I didn’t want to kiss him.”

“Yeah, that was painfully obvious. I’m glad you pushed him away before that happened. I was on my way to pull him off before Isaiah did.” I bring her leg back down, and then both come up, her legs spread wide as I lean against them.

She huffs a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, two more seconds and he would have discovered how bad I am at kissing and pulled back.”

Record scratch.

“I’m sorry, what? You’re bad at…kissing?”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t make a thing of it.”

My eyes narrow on her. “You’re twenty-eight years old, Robyn. There’s no way you’re bad at kissing.”

“Then explain that to all the guys I’ve hooked up with.”

Every thought I had until this moment vanishes, and it takes significant effort to temper my growl. “What. Happened?”

“Calm down. It wasn’t any one thing in particular. It just happened enough that I caught on to it.” Without breaking eye contact, I bring her legs back down, and she sits up with crossed legs. “Guys just,” she hesitates, her head turned down as her fingertips play with the end of her shoelace. “They never want to kiss me for long, or at all. They just wanna fuck and dip out.” The way her voice shrank while saying that nearly stops me dead in my tracks.

“What kind of jerks are you pulling, Robyn? Fuck.”

She groans. “I know. I don’t have the best track record. But c’mon,” she sighs, finally looking at me again. “If they’re all like that, it stands to reason I’m bad at kissing.”

That blinking neon sign must be down for maintenance because the next thing I say is the wrong thing. “Kiss me.”

“What?” she shrieks.

“You heard me. I wanna know.”

“Dell! I will not subject you to that.”

“Robyn,” I say firmly. “Think of this as part of the flirtcoach package. If you’re not confident in the way you kiss, then I’m going to make sure you are.”

“You’re out of your mind,” she huffs.

“Not at all. I’m a dedicated personal trainer and flirt coach. Now kiss me.”

Her eyes flick to my mouth and her chest begins to rise and fall in a different way than when she was working out. She’s nervous to pull the trigger, so I sweeten the pot even though it kills me to do so. “Pretend I’m him. Kiss me the way you want to kiss Isaiah.” Her breath catches as her gaze floats back up to mine. That’s when I lean in a hair’s breadth away, her eyes closing, and I whisper, “Do you want this?”

“Yes,” she says softly before I skim her full lips with mine.

Our first real kiss is chaste, but it ignites my body in flames. It’s tender and demure. But then, she opens her mouth a little more and invites me in. When I slip my tongue against hers, I’m suddenly very aware that I’m on all fours and she’s cross-legged. Not the ideal kissing position, if you ask me.

I need my hands.

Without a word, I brace my core and grab onto her waist. Her hands immediately come around my neck as she lets out a little squeak when I pull her forward, and I sit back. The way she’s straddling my legs has her higher than me, but I have better access. My hands find their place on the back of her head and waist as our kiss becomes frantic and scorching.

She tastes like minty toothpaste and the morning coffee I brought her.

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