Page 65 of The Worst Kind of Promise
“No, Faye. I’d do anything you’d ask me to. Getting naked is just a bonus.”
Dear God. The proximity, the body language, the sweetness sliding off his expert tongue like silk. I’m overheating under the covers.
I reach for the glass of orange juice to quell the sudden dryness in my mouth—all while under Kit’s watchful stare, mind you—and I accidentally overpour past the seam of my lips. Liquid drips down my chin and collects at the neckline of my white sleep shirt, doing an excellent job of turning the fabric translucent.
Stupid nerves. Stupid Kit and his clever innuendos.
My hand flounders around for the nearest napkin, but I don’t even make contact before Kit’s mouth is on my neck, licking a clean stripe through the sticky liquid. One corded arm is braced against the wall, right next to my head, and the other is working the strap of my top down my shoulder.
“Oh, God,” I groan, feeling him lave attentively at my skin. I rake my fingernails down his back and use him as a handhold, marinating in the morning smell of him—his natural scent before he covers himself in cologne.
His lips move down my throat to the shelf of my collarbone. I’m pretty sure there’s barely any juice there.
My lower half squirms, pressure and warmth building at the juncture of my thighs. “Kit…”
“Stop talking.” He sucks on my collarbone, flicking his tongue over the taut flesh, and my back arches off the headboard, inadvertently giving him a face full of my now-bare chest.
A string of moans leaves me, but I’m too aroused to try and quiet them. Kit purrs like a motorboat as he traces the bridge of his nose down the curve of my tit, and he stops at my nipple, giving it a quick lap before closing his mouth around it.
Fuck. He’s treating my body like an altar, and I’m about to come before I’ve even finished breakfast.
My breath puffs out, and there’s a rise of panic in my voice. “Won’t we miss…whatever it is…we have to do…?”
Kit’s teeth pull gently on my nipple as a high tide of lust washes over me—one that makes my toes curl and wipes my mind clean. I dig my fingers deeper into his back, hating the fabric that’s currently preventing me from gaining any traction.
“We have all the time in the world,” he mumbles against my skin, subsequently pressing a kiss to the tender flesh of my breast.
A girl could get used to this…at least for the summer.
* * *
For the past ten minutes,Kit’s kept me blindfolded, and not in the way I like. He has a surprise for me, which generates all sorts of anxiety. Kit’s an all-or-nothing kind of person. He never does anything half-assed. So either he’s treating me to a romantic lunch or he’s constructed some kind of flash mob to happen downtown.
When the car comes to a stop and the engine dies down, I blindly fumble for the door handle, allowing Kit enough time to run over to my side to open it for me. He helps me find my footing, leading me to God knows where—and probably erecting some weird stares from the people around us.
“Are we almost there?” I ask, only slightly freaking out at my lack of control over the situation.
His rich chuckle allays some of my panic.
“We’re here.”
The cloth covering my eyes falls away, and once my vision adjusts to the change in lighting, I’m welcomed by the sight of a Barnes & Noble, outlined in a golden aureole, luster glinting off the dark green awning. It’s humongous, with wide-paneled windows and two grandiose entrances at the front, garnished with brick supports that stretch all the way to the sky.
“Oh my God,” I breathe, shock and giddiness duking it out in the curve of my ribs, right where my heart is struggling to pump.
“I’m going to buy you whatever you want,” he tells me, a body-melting grin skidding across his lips.
I squeal and drag Kit toward the building. This officially takes the cake for the best day of my life. Maybe even above when I got accepted to UPenn. I’ve never struggled financially compared to my peers, but I definitely don’t have enough extra money to spend on stacks of paperback books.
The minute I step into heaven, I follow the smell of new books like a cartoon character follows the aroma of a freshly baked pie. And just as I thought, the inside is just as stunning as the outside. Mile-high bookshelves swerve to form labyrinths of untold stories, pages that have yet to yellow from age or become distressed from use.
Kit’s eyes practically bulge out of his head as he realizes what he just agreed to, and I make a beeline for the romance section, entirely ready to spend the rest of the day hoarding as many books as possible.
I titter. “Regret it?”
He snorts. “Please. How many books could you need?”
“That sounds like a challenge,” I muse, arching my brow, a sinister gleam in my eyes.
