Page 89 of Scrum Heat

I laugh as I run a finger down the middle of his chest. “You complaining?”

“Not even a little,” he says, gaze dropping to my mouth again. “You sure you want to keep spinning?”

“For now,” I wink. “But don’t go anywhere.”

“I’m literally not moving,” he deadpans. “And if someone else kisses you better than that, then I’m throwing the bottle in the trash.”

“Deal.”

I keep myself seated in Finn’s lap and grin as I reach back to spin the bottle again, trying my best to remember how to breathe normally.

“One down,” I say as I flick the base of the bottle around.

This time, it lands on Rory.

The room shifts, and even the air seems to hesitate as he blinks over at me, caught in the crosshairs.

“Are we… actually doing this?”

I smile, slow. “You scared?”

“No,” he says too quickly.

I move toward him, not teasing now—just closing the space, soft and steady. He’s sitting up straight, back a little too rigid, huge hands flat on his thick thighs like he’s bracing for impact.

“Rory,” I say gently, nudging one hand off his leg so I can slide into his space, knee brushing his.

“Yeah?”

“It’s just a kiss.”

His throat bobs. “That’s the problem.”

“Okay,” I laugh. “You want me to go easy?”

His eyes flick to mine. “No. I want you to mean it.”

That shuts me up.

I lean in slow and press my lips to his. He’s still and unmoving at first, like his entire body’s debating between fight-or-fluster. I stay there, though; allowing him time to adjust, letting him feel the weight of it.

Then, after a beat or two, his mouth opens under mine.

Just a little.

Just enough.

And I learn the way Rory James kisses.

It’s carefully and controlled, which is no real surprise, given his personality, but it has this undercurrent of hunger that starts to catch fire the second I push closer. My hand settles on his chest right as his finds my hip—tentative at first, then firmer, more confident.

His fingers tighten when I tilt my head and deepen it.

That’s when he groans—low and rough into my mouth—and suddenly, the kiss is no longer polite, it’sreal, and full of all the tension he never says out loud. His mouth is warm—a little clumsy in the sweetest way—but growing bolder with every second.

When we finally pull apart, his eyes are locked on mine, all wide and dark.

“You’re… good at that,” he exhales.

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