Page 107 of Give Me Love

“Grab the glass.”

I pick it up as he places the lime wedge between his lips.

I smile.

Okay.

I see what you’re doing here. I switch positions so I can sit on my knees.

I then lick my wrist, loving the fact his mouth was just there, and I toss back the shot before reaching out and grabbing his neck, bringing his lips and the lime to me. I suck the lime from his mouth and then let it drop because I want more of him.

I kiss his lips and he wraps his arms around my back, pulling me closer to him. My hands move to his soft hair, and my tongue lightly darts out to dance with his. My insides feel on fire. What a high it is kissing this man.

What. A. Fucking. High.

He grabs my ass and kisses me harder.

Lime, tequila, and salt mixed with Bryce Grant.

It’s heaven on earth.

He pulls away. “We still have more shots to take,” he says. “Behave.”

I fold my lips in and sit back on my haunches, placing my palms on top of my thighs as he grabs his shot glass.

“I do believe your wrist needs some salt, Mr. Grant.”

He grins but only slightly, his blue eyes shining in the softly lit room. The soft cotton I’m wearing smells like forest spice and all man, but I want it off and him on top of me.

The music changes, and“Slow” by The Fratellis comes on. The music is sad, and I look at his face as he holds out his wrist.

“It’s all yours.” His face shows no humor, like he’s giving me more than his wrist.

The Fratellis sing lyrics about leaving and doing it slow.

My chest feels warm from the inside, and my heart swells. I think I love this man.

I swallow and take hold of his wrist, repeating what he did, except I close my eyes when my lips land against his skin and I feel everything…hoping he will, too.

I pull away and sprinkle a little salt on. He tears his gaze from me, licks his wrist, and tosses the shot back as I place the lime into my mouth. He shakes his head and pulls the lime out, hurriedly grabbing me to him and kissing me crazy.

He lifts me from the stool, and I wrap my legs around his waist. My heart pounds. He walks us to the bed and lays us down. His hands go to the bottom of my shirt, and he breaks our kiss.

“I love seeing you in my T-shirt,” he says.

Love. There’s that word again.

“I love the fact it smells like you.” He looks like I pained him by saying that. “Bryce,” I say. My eyes go to the small birthmark on his neck and I run my finger over it, like I’ve wanted to do since the first time I saw it.

“Is this real?” he asks, almost like a small child asking about a make-believe story.

Why is this man hurting so much?

Who did this to you?

I lean up, flipping us so I’m on top. I reach down and pull my shirt up and over my head, letting it fall beside the bed. My breasts ache for him to touch them, and I unbutton my jeans and unzip the zipper. I bend, coming face to face with him. “This is real,” I say lowly because I want him to pay attention to it. I want him to know I mean it with everything inside of me.

He sits up, pressing his lips to mine as he does. He kisses me with every emotion, and I feel it.

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