Page 26 of The Last Kind of Kiss
Since I’m not folding first, I step into the slim canyon of space between us, so close that I can smell the mintiness on his breath and the faintest traces of leather from his cologne. “Fine, but no tongue.”
“Won’t be a problem for me,” he insists, all self-assured and stuck-up and oh-so infuriating.
“It won’t be a problem for me, either.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He drags his tongue over his incisor, the corners of his lips tugging into a cocky grin. “If memory serves me correctly, you couldn’t last a day without my tongue inside you.”
I roll my eyes. “Not the first time I had to fake something with you.”
A lie. I never had to fake anything with Bristol—especially not the Big O—and the hardened state of my nipples can attest to that.Come on, body! Back me up for once!
Bristol, thankfully, isn’t the only one being betrayed by their body because his eyes linger a moment too long on my tits, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “I was there, angel. If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable. Every moan out of your mouth was fucking bona fide.”
Angel? Seriously?
Being reminded about how orgasmic his tongue felt lodged in my cunt isnotgood for the state of my thong and the very flimsy skirt ready to slide up at any given moment. Heat kisses my cheeks, unraveling the coil in my lower abdomen, and I have to sideline the urge to revisit that glorious trip down memory lane.
I waggle my finger in his face. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t give me a cute nickname,” I scold, though there’s not an iota of intimidation in my five-foot-eight body.
Bristol’s dimple flashes in full force. “You think it’s cute?”
“I’m going to kill you.”
A groan rends the air. “You’vebeenkilling me, Lils. Granting me a swift death would be merciful at this point.”
How does he always know exactly what to say? And why does it make me tingle in places Ishouldn’ttingle?
I sidestep his comment, trying to ignore the way it kickstarts my heart into early onset organ failure, and I reapply a mask of indifference to my face. “Second rule: no saying lovey-dovey shit like that.”
“I—”
I smush my finger against Bristol’s lips, more than aware of how brainless that decision was when I feel the heat of hismouth threaten to engulf the digit. His eyes enlarge to discs, and a slow-burning fire catches the oxygen between us, licking the ceiling of the elevator. I know I only have a few more minutes before maintenance is called, so I make sure to drive home the last—and most important—rule of all.
“And the third rule: absolutely, under no circumstances, will weeverhave sex.”
Once I confirm that Bristol’s going to be a good boy and keep his unwanted opinions to himself, I slowly remove my finger, met by humorous disbelief rather than the disappointment I was expecting. Theyeah, rightlook blaring louder than a scoreboard across his features unsettles the queasy pit in my stomach.
He leans into me to bridge the remaining space, studying me with a heavy stare, his umber eyes turning almost black in the pale light of the elevator. “You do know rules are meant to be followed, right?”
Regret swamps me almost instantly. Bristol’s got me cornered like I’m a defenseless field mouse trapped in the jowls of a bloodthirsty barn cat.
“Unlike you,Bristol, I know how to control myself,” I snarl, refusing to let him belittle me, forcing my sex-fueled thoughts to focus on anything other than him having his way with me right here in public.
I think I’m clinically insane to want my brains fucked out because one, I hate the male species, and two, I rebuke any form of emotional intimacy.
His arms shoot out to sandwich me on either side—the hard planes of his body mere inches away from me—and I feel arousal stain my underwear. My legs are jelly, lust blurs the edges of my mind, and every one of my synapses seem to misfire from the proximity.
He doesn’t touch me, although the clench of his bicep tells me he wants to. “I envy you, Lila. Because I’d give anything—and I meananything—to stop thinking about you for a single second of the goddamn day.” His voice is barely audible even in the silence, the words chafing his throat like they hurt to speak.
So much for rule number two.
I think about you more than you possibly know. I think about the life we could’ve had together…the life I still fantasize about. I think about the taste of your lips; I think about the solace your hug brings; I think about the warmth of your hand in mine.
All this pent-up anger and resentment begins to morph into something manageable—something reminiscent of forgiveness, weathered by exhaustion. I may never know why Bristol ended things the way he did, but I can’t ignore the tireless lengths he’s gone to make things…not right, per se…butbetter. I want to grab his face in my hands, kiss him with raw abandon, feel those fireworks re-electrify every nerve in my body.
