Page 62 of Dream Chaser
“Highly probable,” I agree.
I see the moment she makes her decision. Her shoulders uncoil. Her lips part. I don’t wait for verbal permission. I get even better.
I step in slowly and deliberately, giving her time to change her mind. Of course, she doesn’t.
Our mouths crash together like last night. She grabs my shirt and yanks me closer, so hard I nearly topple into the fruit bowl. My hands brace on either side of her face, fingers tangling in her gold locks, and she bites my lower lip hard enough to draw a gasp.
I laugh against her mouth, drunk on the taste of her, and she uses the distraction to shove me back a step then hops onto the counter in a move so practiced it’s almost ritual.
“You sure you don’t want to slow down?” I tease, even though I’m already half-hard and totally lost to her.
“If you say another word, I’m going to?—”
I cut her off, nipping the skin below her ear, just to see what sound she makes. She shivers and clamps her thighs around my hips.
We make out like teenagers, all hands and greed, until I have to steady myself with both arms braced on the counter.
She leans back, breathing like she ran a marathon, and says, “You are so much.”
“And you’re addicted,” I fire back, nuzzling into her neck.
She makes a sound halfway between a growl and a laugh then pulls me in for another bruising kiss. I’ve never seen anyone so determined to win at kissing.
We break apart, chests heaving. She grabs my wrists and yanks me between her legs, planting my hands on her hips. “If you let anyone know about us, I’ll kill you,” she warns.
“Noted.”
We kiss again, longer this time, slower but no less intense. I let my hands roam, etching the curves of her body into memory,as if they already aren’t there, refamiliarizing myself with the places that make her tense and the places she melts.
We stay fused like that, trading kisses, nips, and licks until we can’t breathe.
She pulls back first, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and grinning, making her go from pretty to fucking gorgeous.
She arches an eyebrow then pushes her luck. “You want to see who can get the other to tap out first?”
“Loser buys snacks next round,” I say.
“You’re on.”
We stare at each other, giddy and reckless, and a little bit … doomed.
She hops down from the counter, body rubbing against mine, palm to my chest, and pushes me back until my ass is in that chair. Then she straddles and kisses me until I damn-near forget my own name.
The kiss is all heat and intention, her mouth taking immediate, aggressive control. She tastes like spearmint and cool water, and I can’t decide if I want to swallow her whole or just let her keep devouring me.
My hands find her waist out of instinct, but she catches them and pins them to the chair’s wooden arms, her fingers a vice grip of lust and triumph.
She deepens the kiss, tongue slipping past my lips with practiced ease, and I feel my body arch up to meet her, a puppet to whatever show she wants to stage. Her breath is hot little huffs that escape as she presses herself down harder. I can feel the heat of her through my jeans, and her hips roll with a precision that feels like she mapped out every nerve ending and is going to hit them one by one.
She releases my hands, eventually, but not as a concession—more like a dare, as if she’s saying, “Go ahead; see if you can dobetter.” I take the challenge, sliding my hands up under her shirt and across her back. Her skin is hot, goosebumps rising under my palms as I trace the line of her spine, and she shivers, just once, but it’s enough to know I scored a point.
She retaliates by breaking the kiss and moving to my throat, teeth grazing my pulse before clamping down lightly. I groan, half in shock, half in bliss, and she licks the same spot she marked, soothing it with a slow, lazy swirl of her tongue. If I wasn’t already hard, that would’ve done it.
My hands curve around her hips, pulling her closer, grinding us together. She moans—quiet, just a whimper, but I feel it vibrate through her entire body. She bites me again, harder this time, and I realize she’s intentional in marking her territory, staking her claim.
I score my own comeback by sliding one hand up, fingers splaying across the small of her back, then slipping under the waistband of her leggings to cup her bare ass. Her breath hitches, and she straightens, eyes wide in momentary surprise before the grin returns, twice as wicked. She rocks against me, the friction almost unbearable, and I grow dizzy from the cycle of tension and release.
“You think that’s gonna break me?” she whispers, voice scraping against my earlobe, a wet promise tucked into the words.
