Page 37 of The Puck Contract

The kiss deepens naturally, mouths moving together with increasing synchronicity. When I gently catch his bottom lip between mine, he makes a soft sound that sends heat rushing through my body.

I pull back, needing a moment. This is getting dangerous fast.

"That was..." I clear my throat. "Much better."

Mateo's eyes are slightly glazed, his lips parted and darker than before. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Very convincing."

"What about with tongue?" he asks, and my brain short-circuits for a second. "That's how people usually kiss, right? At this stage in a relationship?"

Fuck me sideways. We're really doing this.

"Usually, yes," I manage, sounding mostly normal. "But only if you're comfortable with that."

He nods decisively. "I am. For authenticity."

Right. Authenticity. The sacred goal that absolutely justifies what we're doing right now.

"Okay," I say, and why does my voice sound so goddamn husky? "Just follow my lead."

I close the distance between us again, starting with the familiar pressure of lips on lips before gently tracing the seam of his mouth with my tongue. He hesitates for a heartbeat, then parts his lips, granting access. I keep it slow, exploratory, giving him time to adjust to the new sensation.

What I don't expect is how quickly he adapts.

After a few tentative moments, he's matching me stroke for stroke, his tongue sliding against mine with increasing confidence. His hand on my shoulder tightens, fingers digging in slightly, and the small display of intensity sends a jolt straight to my groin.

I should stop this. We've established the basics, mission accomplished, time to call it a day before things go too far. But then Mateo makes another one of those quiet sounds—halfway between a sigh and a moan—and rational thought evaporates like ice on a hot skillet.

The kiss deepens, turns hungry. I'm dimly aware of shifting positions, of Mateo's back hitting the couch cushions as I lean over him. My hand moves from his hair to his waist, feeling the lean muscle beneath his shirt. His arms wrap around my neck, pulling me closer.

This has gone way beyond practice, but I can't seem to care. Not when he’s is kissing me back with equal fervor, his body arching slightly beneath mine.

What happens next catches me completely off guard.

Mateo surges upward, flipping our positions with unexpected strength until I'm the one with my back against the cushions and he's hovering over me. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, his breathing uneven. For a moment he just stares down at me, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head.

Then he's kissing me again, but this time he's in control. His mouth moves against mine with newfound authority, his tongue delving deep. One of his hands cradles my jaw while the other braces against the back of the couch. It's confident, commanding, and sexy as all hell.

I surrender completely, letting him set the pace, my hands finding his hips to steady him as he practically straddles my lap. The kiss turns molten, messy, all pretense of practice forgotten as we devour each other with mounting urgency.

That's when I feel it—the unmistakable hardness pressing against my stomach as Mateo shifts above me. He's getting turned on. The supposedly straight guy who's only doing this for money and experience is getting hard from kissing me.

Holy fuck.

The realization hits us both at the same moment. Mateo freezes, his lips still pressed to mine but no longer moving. I can feel the exact instant awareness crashes over him, tension flooding his body.

He pulls back abruptly, eyes wide with shock, face flushed. "I—" he starts, then stops, apparently at a loss for words.

I remain perfectly still, afraid any movement might spook him further. "It's okay," I say quietly. "Normal physical reaction."

He scrambles backward off my lap, smoothing his shirt down with shaking hands. "I should go."

"Mateo—"

"I just remembered I have an essay due tomorrow. For Phenomenological Approaches to Cultural Studies." The words tumble out in a rush. "It's a major part of my grade. I completely forgot about it until just now."

It's such a transparent lie that I almost laugh, but his face is so stricken that I swallow the impulse. "Okay," I say instead. "If you need to go, that's fine."

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