Page 50 of Pucking One Night Stand
I lean in a fraction, maybe not even that, but she’s already there.
Her mouth meets mine. Soft at first. Cautious. Hesitant. Then it ignites, and she kisses me like she means it. Like that night wasn’t some mistake we’re both pretending didn’t happen.
I pull her closer. Her body fits against mine like we’ve done this a thousand times.
The air shifts. Her fingers press into my chest, and mine lock tight around her waist. She breathes my name, barely more than a whisper against my lips, and just like that, the kiss deepens.
It gets hotter. Faster. Frantic.
Her hand moves up my neck, into my hair. My grip tightens around her hips. She tastes like peppermint gum and something I can’t name but crave anyway.
Her mouth opens more to me. Our tongues clash. It’s a mess, it’s a wildfire, it’s pure goddamn heat.
And then—
She pulls away.
No warning. Just gone.
She leans down, grabs her bag off the ground, and starts hobbling back toward the main entrance of the arena. One heel broken. One kiss dropped like a grenade.
I blink. “What the hell just happened?”
She doesn’t look back until she’s halfway across the parking lot. Then she turns.
“Well, aren’t you coming? I need to grab another pair of shoes.”
I stare at her. Her silhouette in the glow of the overhead lights, that long blond hair swaying against her blazer the unapologetic way she stands there like she didn’t just detonate a kiss that damn near undid me.
She waits. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t tease. Just stands there, beautiful as hell.
I move. And when I reach her, I don’t ask. I don’t wait. I take her.
One arm around her waist, the other burying into her hair as I pull her hard against me and crash my mouth onto hers.
This kiss isn’t soft. There’s no hesitation.
It’s rough. Demanding as she gasps into it, but she doesn’t stop me, hell no, she gives it right back. Her fingers fist in my jacket as we lose all sense of where we are.
I grip her tighter and kiss her deeper. It’s all mouths and tongues and heat, and I’m seconds from lifting her right off the ground and slamming her back into the side of my truck.
She pulls back, breathless, grinning. “Come on,” she says and grabs my hand.
We run back through the rest of the parking lot. She’s running on her toes, and the heel of one shoe clicks wildly on the concrete, while I hold her hand to steady her. She swipes her ID at the arena doors, and we’re in.
Cool air hits our skin as we fly down the dim hallway, laughing like idiots who’ve just broken every HR rule in the book.
We slow when we hit the media department. Suzanna looks up from her laptop. Tarquin doesn’t even blink.
I flash them a grin that feels ridiculous even to me. Cassy says nothing, just taps her keycard again, and the office door unlocks.
She steps in first. I follow and use my foot to kick the door shut behind us. No lights. Don’t need them, and I grab her again. My mouth is back on hers before she even gets a chance to put her damn bag down.
It’s desperate.
My hands find her waist, her back, her thighs, everywhere.
Her mouth is wild against mine, her breath racing as she starts on my shirt buttons, one by one, not fast enough.
