Page 85 of Rematch
Or even now, as he grabbed another one of her cupcakes, grinning like a kid getting dessert before dinner.
He demolished the second cupcake as quickly as the first. “Holy shit, those are good.”
She laughed, then reached toward him. “You have a little frosting…right there.” She started to wipe it off for him, but Preston grasped her wrist, pulling her closer.
“Might work better if you licked it off,” he said, his voice as rich and velvety as her cupcakes.
Chelsea didn’t even bother refusing because she really, really wanted to taste that frosting from his lips. Lifting on her tiptoes, she moved closer, Preston leaning forward to meet her halfway. Her tongue darted out, swiping away the sweet confectionary sugar and butter, and her moan matched his.
His hand gripped the side of her throat, his intention clear.
He was going to kiss her, and all the common sense in the world wasn’t going to stop Chelsea. She was tired of fighting this attraction. And Preston wasn’t making it any easier. The man was always touching her. Like when he took her hand to help her out of the car and held fast. Or when his hand rested on the small of her back as they walked beside each other. Or the way he rubbed her shoulders whenever she was tired or tense.
Every little touch had worked its way past her defenses, so much so, she was struggling to recall why kissing him would be a bad idea.
Chelsea waited until his lips were a mere inch from hers before turning her face away so that they landed on her cheek. She felt his sigh, knew he was misinterpreting her actions as rejection.
Which made it even harder for her to keep a straight face when she reached behind her. She felt around until she found another cupcake. Running her finger over the top, she gathered a large dollop of icing, lifting it to her own lips.
Chelsea painted the lower one with the white frosting, grinning at him.
“Oops,” she said. “Now I’m a mess too.”
Preston’s eyes darkened with hunger. “I better clean that up.” His tongue tickled as he licked every bit of icing. “You’re delicious.”
There was something so freeing and fun about flirting with him that she couldn’t resist driving the heat even higher. She pushed the finger that was still sticky with frosting into her mouth, sucking it suggestively as Preston watched.
“Dirty girl,” he murmured, pushing her against the counter at her back. “You realize you’re playing with fire, don’t you? That rule of yours…”
She gazed up at him through lowered lashes. Releasing her finger with a pop, she ran her hands down his chest, tightening her fists in his shirt, pulling him closer. “Bend it. Hard.”
Preston didn’t need to be asked twice. He lowered his head, claiming her lips in a kiss that was incendiary and rough, almost bruising in its intensity. Ever since Christmas, he’d respected her wishes, keeping things between them platonic, never stepping over the line she’d drawn.
All that was out the window now.
He pulled her hair tie out so that her chestnut curls fell loose around her shoulders. Then he ran his fingers through them, gripping her tresses tight enough that her scalp tingled. He made her feel naughty and wicked and wild, and she loved it.
Their tongues danced together as Preston wedged his thick, hard thigh between her legs. Chelsea gave up fighting for control, taking what she needed, what she wanted. Her core rocked back and forth on that thigh as she sought pressure against her clit. Preston grabbed one hip, moving her faster.
Every now and then, her thigh brushed against his crotch, his erection full-blown. She ran her hand over it, applying pressure, wanting to make him feel as good as he was making her feel, but Preston pulled her fingers away.
“No. This isn’t about me. Right now, all I want is to see you falling apart. You’re so fucking beautiful when you come. I’ve spent too many months imagining it over and over in my memories. I need to see it again.”
He placed his lips against hers, devouring her again as she gyrated madly against his leg.
When Chelsea’s breathing became labored, she broke the kiss in order to draw in some air. Preston growled—an honest-to-God growl—his lips finding hers again, refusing to let her go.
She felt light-headed and dizzy, but decided breathing was over-fucking-rated. Moving harder against his thigh, Chelsea gasped, her pussy clenching, her clit pulsing.
“I…think…” she breathed against his lips, even though he was still kissing her.
Holy crap. She was going to come. Just from dry-humping his leg.
How was that even possible?
Preston’s lips traveled to the side of her neck, his breath hot in her ear. “Come undone for me, Joy.”
She loved it when he called her that.
